LUCY    A  R  L  Y  X 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE, 

AUTHOR   OF   "XKIGHBOR   JACKTTOOD,"   "  CTDJO'S   CATK,"   "  F ATHZX 
ETC.,   ETC. 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOR    AND     FIELDS. 
j6. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


PS 


66 

CONTENTS. 


I. 

Page. 
THE  VILLAGE   GENIUS 7 

II. 
ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES 20 

III. 
COLONEL    BANNINGTON 32 

IV. 
A  LOVE-CHASE 46 


V. 
LOVE,  FISH,   AND   PHILOSOPHY 55 

VI. 
THE   LOVES  OF  ELPHAZ  PELT  AND  ABNER  ROANE  ...     69 

vn. 

FLIGHT 80 

VIII. 
THE  HOUSEKEEPER'S  STORY.  —  DOCTOR  BIDDIKIN  ....     88 

IX. 

A  SPIRITUAL  CIRCLE 99 

X. 

ARCHY  LOSES  HIS  SITUATION 113 

(3) 


4  CONTENTS. 

XI. 

Pa«e. 
THE  SEERESS 128 

xn. 

ARCHY'S  SUBSTITUTE  .  .    136 


XIII. 

LUCY'S  NEW  HOME 149 

XIV. 
THE    SITUATION 165 

XV. 

THE  BEAR-HUNT 172 

XVI. 
GUY  RETURNS  WITH  THE  BOAT 189" 

xvn. 

CHRISTINA.  —  LUCY 203 

XVIII. 
IN  THE   FOREST 214 

XIX. 

THE  CAVERN  OF  THE  CASCADE 228 

XX. 

JOB  AND  HIS  BENEFACTOR 234 

XXI. 

ANOTHER  GRAVE  IS  OPENED 244 

XXII. 
MAD  BIDDIKIN'S  RIDE 256 

xxm. 

THE  NIGHT  ENCOUNTER 269 

XXIV. 
ABNER  TAKES   NOTES 278 


CONTENTS. 
XXV. 

Page. 
JUSTICE  PELT  AND  THE  PRISONER 292 

XXVI. 
ON  THE  CRAGS 301 

XXVII. 

THE    CONSECRATION 311 

XXVIH. 

ESTRANGEMENT:  WINTER 321 

XXIX. 

ARCHY   MEETS     AN    OLD     ACQUAINTANCE,   AND    MAKES 
A  NEW   ONE 331 

XXX. 

THE  TREASURE 344 

XXXI. 

ABNER'S  LETTER 359 

XXXII. 

GUY  IS   LEFT  ALONE 309 

XXXIII. 

ABNER  PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS 382 

XXXIV. 

A  STORM  IN  THE  AIR 393 

XXXV. 

A  THUNDER-CLAP 400 

XXXVI. 

LAWYER  PELT  GETS  WET .   40G 

XXXVII. 

THE  NIGHT  VISIT 416 

XXX  VHI. 
THE  MORNING  AFTER 425 


6  CONTENTS. 

XXXIX. 

Page. 

THE  INQUEST 439 

XL. 
THE  COMING  MAN  AND  HIS  DISCIPLE 447 

XLL 
THE    SEARCH-WARRANT 453 

XLII. 
THE  GOLD 4G3 

XLIH. 

JACK  THE  CROW 468 

XLIV. 
LITTLE   AGNES 477 

XLV. 
THE  PRISON 483 

XL  VI. 
CHRISTINA  AND  CEPHAS  MAKE  CALLS 497 

XL  VII, 
THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  TRIAL 512 

XL  VIII. 
THE  PROSECUTION 521 

XLIX. 
THE    DEFENCE 531 

L. 

FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER 543 

LI. 

THE  VERDICT 553 

LII. 
THE  CACTUS  BLOOMS 667 


THE   VILLAGE   GENIUS. 

T  was  a  proud  day  for  Archy  Brandle  and 
his  mother  when  Lucy  Arlyn  came  out  to  their 
house  to  make  a  friendly  visit  and  to  drink  tea. 

The  sun  seemed  to  shine  more  brightly  and  the  birds  to 
sing  more  sweetly  for  her  sake,  that  afternoon.  For  her  the 
widow  put  on  her  handsomest  white  cap ;  for  her  the  nicest 
tea-things  were  produced ;  and  for  her  the  widow's  son,  in 
the  little  workshop  at  the  kitchen-end,  made  extravagant 
flower-boxes,  and  devotedly  hammered  his  thumb. 

The  shop  itself  was  a  mere  box,  filled  with  grotesque  rub 
bish,  —  dog-carts,  dog-harnesses,  and  dog-churns ;  cog-wheels 
without  number ;  a  wooden  horse  without  legs ;  a  native 
hand-organ,  and  a  hickory  fiddle,  with  other  extraordinary 
and  unmentionable  trumpery ;  in  the  midst  of  which  toiled 
the  genius  of  the  place,  with  sweaty  cheeks  and  rolled-up 
sleeves,  at  his  work-bench  by  the  window. 


8  THE     VILLAGE    GENIUS. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  shop-door  sat  Lucy,  watching 
Archy  at  his  work,  or  looking  out  upon  the  pleasant  orchard ; 
but  always,  whatever  else  she  did,  charming  away  the  young 
man's  heart  with  those  tender  hazel  eyes  and  soft  brown  curls, 
on  which  the  checkered  sunshine  nickered. 

The  tea  ready,  Mrs.  Brandle  came  smilingly  to  announce 
it.  Lucy  was  lost  in  re  very  at  the  moment ;  her  eyes,  full 
of  dreams,  gazing  farther  away  than  Archy  or  the  orchard : 
but  she  looked  up  quickly,  and  shook  her  sunny  curls. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Brandle,"  she  said,  "you  never  told  me 
what  a  genius  our  Archy  is !  " 

The  simple  widow  regarded  the  awkward  and  blushing 
youth  with  a  look  full  of  fondness  and  maternal  pride. 

"  He  takes  arter  his  father,  Miss  Arlyn.  His  father  was 
a  master-hand  to  be  always  contrivin'  somethin'  or  other  no 
mortal  ever  thought  on.  Ever  sence  Archy  was  a  baby,  he 
has  been  jes'  so  famous  for  putterin' ;  and  there's  no  end  to 
the  time  he  has  spent  and  the  property  he  has  destroyed  fol- 
lerin'  his  bent." 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  "  said  Archy  modestly  :  "  I  ain't  so  bad  as 
that !  " 

"He  has  been  telling  me  about  his  flying-machine,"  said 
Lucy ;  * '  and  he  has  promised  me  a  ride  in  it,  if  he  can  ever 
get  it  to  go.  Only  think  of  flying,  Mrs.  Brandle  !  " 

Archy  grinned,  and  turned  over  a  flower-box  to  hide  his 
blushes. 

"  I  consider  it  a  good  idee  myself,"  remarked  the  widow. 


THE     VILLAGE    GENIUS.  9 

"  Archy 's  idees  are  gener'ly  good.  The  trouble  is,  he  can't 
always  make  'era  work  jest  to  suit  him.  There  was  his  im 
proved  clo'es-dryer  :  it  was  a  very  good  idee  ;  and  I  thought 
a  great  deal  oii't,  till  it  fell  into  the  fire  one  day,  and  burnt 
up  a  hull  week's  washin'.  His  new  lever  pump  was  very  in 
genious  ;  but  then  he  never  could  make  it  pump  arter  he  got 
it  into  the  well.  Then  there  was  his  Yankee  cutting-box  :  he 
cut  off  two  fingers  in  that ' '  — 

"Come,  don't  tell  about  that!"  interposed  Archy,  put 
ting  one  hand  behind  him. 

"While  he  was  laid  up  with  his  hand,"  continued  the 
widow,  good-humoredly  laughing  in  sympathy  with  their  visit 
or,  "  he  studied  up  a  dog-churn  to  save  labor." 

"  Don't  mention  that  thing !  "  pleaded  Archy. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  Lucy,  delighted.  "  How  did  the  dog- 
churn  succeed  ?  " 

"  He  worked  long  enough  at  it  to  churn  all  the  butter  in 
town  one  season !  "  said  the  good  woman,  glad  to  entertain 
her  guest,  even  at  the  risk  of  annoying  her  beloved  Archy. 
"  Then  it  took  him  a  month  to  train  Carlo." 

"  Wai,  such  a  stupid  dog  as  that !  " 

"  Finally  he  got  him  perty  well  larnt :  but,  when  he  was  in 
the  churn,  somebody  had  to  stand  by  and  whip  him  all  the 
time  to  make  him  go ;  and  you  know  it  wouldn't  be  my 
way  to  do  that,  when  I  could  take  hold  and  bring  the  butter 
enough  sight  quicker  myself.  One  mess,  Carlo  was  two  days 
churnin' ;  the  next  he  e't  up  when  my  back  was  turned ;  and, 


10  THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS. 

when  Archy  insisted  on  tryin'  him  agin,  he  tipped  the  churn 
over,  and  made  the  awfulest  muss,  —  got  the  cream  all  over 
him,  and  run  with  it  all  over  the  house  !  "  — 

Here  Archy  took  to  flight,  and  left  Lucy  suffocating  with 
laughter. 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  widow,  wiping  away  tears  of  merri 
ment  from  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  ' '  I  come  to  call  you  to 
tea;  but  you  got  me  to  talkin',  and  I  never  know  when  to 
stop.  Poor  boy  !  he  can't  bear  to  hear  about  that  dog-churn  ! " 

She  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  tea-table  was  set, 
and  a  detachment  of  sunbeams  from  the  waving  pear-branches 
by  the  window  danced  like  a  troop  of  fairies  on  the  white 
cloth  and  cheery  dishes  of  the  little  banquet,  of  which  they 
had  playfully  taken  possession  in  her  absence. 

There  was  the  little  tea-tray  in  its  place,  where  many  and 
many  a  time,  for  years,  it  had  graced  the  board  at  which  she 
and  her  lamented  husband  sat  down,  until  the  sight  of  its 
worn  japan  and  battered  rim  was  dearer  to  the  widow's  eyes 
than  the  gayest  salver  would  have  been,  all  of  silver  or  gold. 

Mrs.  Brandle  brought  the  little  black  tea-pot  from  the 
hearth,  and  placed  it  upon  the  tray.  Beside  it  were  three 
white  cups  and  three  white  saucers,  set  into  each  other,  and 
covered  by  a  snowy  napkin.  There  was  an  old-fashioned 
sugar-bowl  standing  by  an  old-fashioned  milk-mug,  both  look 
ing  like  an  aged  married  couple  that  had  lived  together  happi 
ly  for  a  great  while,  and  were  quite  contented.  Then  there 
were  the  brightest  knives  in  the  village,  for  Mrs.  Brandle  was 


THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS.  11 

a  famous  scourer ;  one  by  each  plate,  like  a  sword  under  the 
rim  of  a  shield.  One  of  the  fairy  sunbeams  had  the  au 
dacity  to  dance  upon  the  very  edge  of  one  of  these  shining 
blades.  Others  of  the  merry  troop  were  capering  upon  the 
slices  of  white  bread,  the  golden  butter,  and  the  dishes  of 
cookies  and  preserves.  There  was  a  great  fluttering  among 
the  intruders  when  the  company  sat  down  ;  the  pear-branches 
rustling  to  give  them  warning.  About  half  of  them  ventured 
to  remain  on  the  table,  while  the  rest  flew  to  Archy's  head, 
on  which  they  played  fantastically,  as  if  leaping  and  clapping 
their  hands  with  glee  at  his  grinning  bashfulness. 

With  the  beautiful  and  admired  Lucy  pitting  opposite  him, 
talking  and  laughing  with  the  most  graceful  condescension, 
the  village  genius  could  only  look  at  her  and  listen  to  her, 
and  blush  and  stammer  when  she  looked  at  him.  It  is  not 
probable  that  he  had  any  distinct  consciousness  of  tasting 
food  that  night,  or  was  even  aware  that  he  stirred  his  tea  with 
his  knife,  ate  sauce  with  his  fingers,  and  bread  and  butter 
with  a  spoon. 

While  the  youth's  cup  of  bliss  was  mixed  half  and  half 
with  painful  diffidence,  his  mother's  overflowed  with  unalloyed 
happiness.  She  knew  how  ardently  Archy  loved  Lucy,  and 
felt  a  warm  hope  that  Lucy  had  become  interested  in  him. 
The  young  girl's  occasional  fits  of  abstraction,  pcnsiveness, 
and  sighs,  were  undoubted  symptoms  of  love ;  and  who  so 
likely  to  be  the  object  of  her  affection  as  that  paragon  of  ex 
cellence  and  prodigy  of  talent,  the  widow's  darling  son? 


12  THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS. 

Poor  Mrs.  Brandle  did  not  consider  that  nobody  else  ever 
saw  with  a  mother's  eyes,  but  thought  only  of  the  joy  of 
having  so  sweet  a  companion  sitting  there  at  every  meal, 
rendering  unspeakably  happy  Archy,  who  worshipped  her  so, 
and  filling  the  house  with  the  charm  of  her  loveliness. 

The  widow  resolved  to  give  her  son  some  practical  advice 
on  the  subject  before  he  set  out  to  escort  Lucy  home ;  and 
accordingly  followed  him  to  the  workshop  when  he  went  to  get 
the  flower-boxes. 

"  Now  is  your  chance,  my  son  !  "  she  whispered. 

"  My  chance?  "  repeated  Archy,  with  an  earnest,  hopefal 
look. 

"  Yes,  my  son.  Remember  the  old  adage,  —  '  Happy's 
the  wooing  that's  not  long  a-doing.' ' 

"  0  ma  !  you  don't  mean  "  — 

"  Come,  you  musn't  be  bashful  now,"  —  the  widow  smiled 
encouragingly.  "Be  bold  as  a  lion.  Tell  her  you  love 
her!" 

"  I  dasn't !  "  said  the  agitated  Archy.  "  Don't  seem  as 
though  I  ever  could  mention  it  to  her  !  But  I  do  !  "  —  and 
the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

' '  You  musn't  cry  and  appear  down-hearted.  Chirk  up, 
my  son.  Remember  the  old  saying,  — '  Be  as  merry  as  you 
can  ;  for  love  ne'er  delights  in  a  sorrowful  man.'  You  don't 
know  the  natur'  o'  these  gals  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  But  you  don't  re'lly  think,  though,  she's  any  notion  arter 
me,  do  ye?" 


THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS.  13 

"  I'm  satisfied  on't,  child  !  I  can  tell !  But  she  never'll 
have  you  in  the  world  if  you  hang  back  in  this  way.  Now, 
don't  you  leave  her  to-night  till  you've  popped  the  question.'* 

"  Oh,  if  I  only  das't  to  !  "  replied  Archy.  "  Sposen  any 
body  should  hear  ?  " 

"  Watch  your  chance,  my  son.  It'll  be  a  good  time  when 
you're  goin'  over  the  bridge.  If  anybody  happens  along, 
you  can  kind  o'  throw  a  stun  into  the  water,  and  make 
believe  you  see  a  mud-turtle  or  somethin',  and  so  have  an 
excuse  to  stop.  She  ain't  a  bit  happy  there  to  hum  with  her 
Aunt  Pinworth's  folks  ;  and  I  hain't  a  doubt  but  she'll  jump 
at  the  chance  to  come  and  live  here.  Now,  promise  you'll  do 
as  I  say." 

Archy  promised,  although  with  fear  and  trembling;  and 
the  widow  returned  to  the  kitchen  in  order  to  speak  a  few 
words  in  praise  of  her  son,  and  prepare  Lucy's  mind  for  what 
was  coming. 

"  He's  got  jest  one  of  the  best  dispositions  under  the  sun, 
Miss  Lucy;  and  we're  jest  as  happy  as  we  can  be  here  togeth 
er,  as  you  see.  But  I  suppose  we  sha'n't  always  live  alone. 
'  Wives  must  be  had,  be  they  good  or  bad,'  says  the  proverb. 
I  hope  Archy  will  git  a  good  one ;  for  he  desarves  one,  if 
anybody  does  in  this  world !  " 

"  Indeed  he  does  !  "  said  the  sympathizing  Lucy,  not  sus 
pecting  the  artful  mother's  design. 

"  '  Little  farm  well  tilled,  little  house  well  filled,  little  wife 
well  willed,'  —  that's  Archy's  idee.  He'll  make  jest  the 


14  THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS. 

most  indulgentest  husband  now,  Lucy,"  continued  the  widow, 
growing  familiar ;  when  Archy,  entering  with  the  flower- 
boxes,  put  an  end  to  the  eulogy. 

Lucy  praised  the  workmanship  of  the  boxes,  but  regretted 
that  he  had  put  by  his  flying-machine  to  make  them;  assuring 
him  that  she  could  never  repay  his  kindness. 

"  Oh !  mabby  you  can,  some  way."  And  Archy  gave  his 
mother  an  inquiring  look,  wondering  if  it  would  not  be  better 
to  make  his  declaration  then,  when  she  was  present  to  help  it 
through. 

But  Mrs.  Brandle  motioned  him  to  go.  Lucy  was  already 
at  the  door,  appearing  anxious  to  depart.  Archy  sidled  up 
to  her  with  an  embarrassed  air ;  his  mother  smiling  encourage 
ment,  and  putting  out  her  elbow  to  imply  that  he  ought  to 
offer  her  his  arm.  It  was  a  moment  of  extreme  trial  to  the 
suffering  genius. 

"  Take  my  arm  ?  "  he  faltered ;  at  the  same  moment  drop 
ping  one  of  the  flower-boxes.  Stooping  to  pick  that  up,  he 
dropped  the  other ;  and,  looking  hastily  to  see  if  Lucy  was 
laughing  at  him,  he  dropped  them  both. 

"  Thank  you.  Archy,"  said  Lucy  with  a  smile  :  "  you  have 
your  hands  full,  and  I  can  take  care  of  myself."  And,  bid 
ding  the  widow  good-by,  she  walked  away  gracefully  beside 
the  humiliated  and  red-faced  youth. 

Mrs.  Brandle  watched  them  with  eyes  of  fond  solicitude 
until  they  disappeared  from  sight  over  the  hill  against  the 
sunset  sky ;  then  returned  to  the  kitehen  and  her  work,  smil- 


THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS.  15 

ing  at  visions  of  her  son's  successful  wooing  and  happy  wed 
ded  life. 

The  breezes  sank  to  rest  with  the  sun.  The  mill-pond  was 
unruffled,  reflecting  in  its  dreamy  bosom  the  cool  green  banks, 
motionless  and  drooping  elms,  the  far-off  purple  hills,  and 
fiery  evening  sky.  Lucy,  gay  and  sociable  at  starting,  grew 
thoughtful  and  silent  as  she  approached  her  home.  Archy 
almost  gasped  for  breath,  coming  in  sight  of  the  bridge  below 
the  dam,  and  remembering  his  mother's  injunction.  He  did 
not  have  to  resort  to  the  device  of  throwing  a  stone  at  some 
imaginary  reptile  ;  for,  reaching  the  bridge,  Lucy  stopped  by 
the  rail,  and  looked  down  at  the  swift-running  water. 

A  stream  speaks  many  languages,  and  can  discourse  of 
mirth  and  sadness,  of  love  and  despair,  equally  well,  — 
flowing  forth  frolicsome  and  bubbling  with  laughter  at  morn 
ing  ;  murmuring  of  liquid  coolness  and  sweet  rest  under  the 
noonday  heats  ;  hoarse  and  melancholy  at  nightfall ;  uttering 
solemn  things  and  dread  uncertainties  at  midnight  with  mys 
terious  moan  ;  the  same  unchanging  and  perpetual  strain,  in 
terpreting  to  every  season  its  sentiment,  and  to  every  heart  its 
own  joy  or  sorrow.  Archy  and  Lucy  stood  together  on  the 
bridge,  the  waters  rushing  over  shadowy  shallows  beneath 
them  ;  and  it  talked  of  love  and  trouble  to  both  :  yet  it  spoke 
one  thing  to  the  simple  youth,  and  to  the  maiden  far  other 
things,  —  hopes  and  sufferings  and  yearnings  which  he  could 
never  understand. 

"  Who  was  that  for?  "  asked  Archy  as  she  sighed. 


16  THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS. 

"For  you,  Archy,"  she  playfully  answered,  faintly  smil 
ing,  and  wondering  to  think  how  far  the  youth  was  from  her, 
and  how  near  another  was,  at  that  moment. 

"  You  don't  say  —  you  don't  mean  that  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
genius.  "  It  was  for  Abner  Roane,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

Lucy  smiled  at  his  breathless  earnestness,  but  shook  her 
head. 

"  Abner  has  red  hair :  I  never  could  sigh  for  red  hair, 
Archy ! " 

Archy  sifted  sand  through  a  crack  of  the  bridge  with  his 
foot,  not  knowing  what  next  to  say.  The  sand  spilled  into 
the  stream ;  and  the  stream  talked  on  the  same,  wild  and 
dark,  and  prophetic  of  griefs,  yet  far  different  griefs,  to  both. 

Archy  had  to  think  of  all  his  mother  had  said  to  him  be 
fore  he  could  gain  courage  to  add,  — 

"If  I  re'lly  thought  that  was  for  me,  I  —  I  should  feel  I 
was  the  luckiest  feller:  the  flyin'-machine  wouldn't  be  a 
circumstance !  " 

"  Nonsense,  Archy  !  "  laughed  his  companion  ;  but  his  face 
was  full  of  emotion  that  surprised  and  touched  her.  "  Ah, 
Archy !  "  she  said,  laying  her  hand  kindly  upon  his  shoulder, 
"  you  are  an  honest  boy,  and  you  have  a  good  heart,  if  you 
are  not  very  smart !  We  will  always  be  good  friends !  " 

The  serious  shades  of  evening  closing  around,  together  with 
what  the  water  said  to  her,  had  softened  her  eyes  and  voice  to 
a  strange  tenderness,  which  Archy  hoped  was  tenderness  for 
him.  "  I  do  love  you  !  "  he  burst  forth,  his  eyes  glistening 


THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS.  17 

with  honest  tears.  "  I  can't  help  it,  and  I  may  as  well  men 
tion  it;  though  I  know  I  ain't  any  thing  that  you  should 
care  for  me !  "  And  down  went  the  flower-boxes  on  the 
bridge,  and  down  got  Archy  to  pick  them  up ;  where,  finding 
himself  on  his  knees  in  a  convenient  posture,  he  remained 
to  plead  his  cause. 

"  There,  there,  Archy  !  get  up  quick  !  "  cried  Lucy ;  and 
as  he  scrambled  to  his  feet,  thinking  somebody  was  coming, 
she  once  more  laid  her  gentle  and  consoling  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  "  Never  do  such  a  thing,  nor  think  of  such  a 
thing,  again,  Archy !  " 

"  I  knowed  you  wouldn't  have  me,  or  I  might  have 
knowed ! "  said  the  wretched  genius,  hanging  his  head. 
"Don't  be  put  out  'cause  I  mentioned  it:  I  won't  agin. 
I  know  I'm  a  fool !  " 

"  And  so  you  are,  dear,  good  Archy !  "  said  Lucy,  in  a 
tone  so  full  of  sympathy  and  pity,  that  the  poor  fellow,  quite 
overcome,  burst  into  tears.  "  Come,  now,  cheer  up,  Archy  : 
let  us  be  friends  as  before."  ' 

"  I'll  always  be  your  friend,  if  you'll  let  me  !  "  exclaimed 
Archy.  "  I'll  do  any  thing  for  you ;  only  let  me  know  if  ever 
you  wa-want  me  "  — chokingly  over  his  sleeve. 

She  waited  for  him  to  dry  his  tears,  talking  to  him  cheer- 
ingly ;  then  said  she  would  see  how  much  he  was  willing  to 
do  for  her. 

"I've  a  letter  I  want  you  to  carry,"  —  taking  one  from 
her  bosom. 

2 


18  THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS. 

"  0,  I'll  —  I'll  carry  it !  "  said  the  eager  Archy. 

"  I  don't  want  anybody  to  know  about  it :  for  that  reason, 
I  trust  you  with  it,"  Lucy  added,  placing  it  in  his  hand. 
"  Carry  it "  — in  a  faint  voice  —  "to  Guy  Bannington !  " 

Archy  recoiled,  holding  the  letter  from  him. 

"  Why,  Archy,  won't  you  take  it  ?  " 

"  0  Lucy!  "  he  murmured,  with  a  look  of  astonishment 
and  distress.  "  Guy  Bannington !  —  that  bad  young  man  !  " 

''What  do  you  know  about  Guy  Bannington?"  cried 
Lucy,  irritated.  "  Give  me  back  the  letter  !  " 

"  I'll  carry  it,  if  you  say  so  :  only,  you  know,  he's  the  wust 
young  man  in  the  county,  everybody  says." 

"  And  what  everybody  says  you  believe,  simpleton  ! " 
said  Lucy  impatiently.  "  Give  it  to  me  !" 

"  No  ;  I'll  take  it :  I  said  I  would.  But  why  didn't  you 
tell  us  what  you  come  over  to  our  house  for  ?  " 

"Why,  Archy,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  'Cause,  I  know  now,  you  don't  care  no  more  for  ma  or 
me  than  noth'n ;  and  you  never  would  have  come  if 't  hadn't 
been  for  gittin'  me  to  carry  this  letter." 

Lucy  blushed  crimson ;  for  the  simple  genius,  out  of  the 
anguish  of  his  soul,  as  geniuses  are  said  to  do,  had  spoken 
the  living  truth. 

"  Very  well !  "  said  Lucy  coldly;  "  if  you  think  so,  you 
will  never  wish  to  see  me  again  :  and  I  cannot  keep  the  boxes, 
nor  let  you  carry  the  letter." 

"  Now,  don't  be  put  out!  "  implored  the  widow's  son,  quite 


THE    VILLAGE    GENIUS.  19 

crushed  by  her  resentment.  "  I  didn't  mean  it.  'Tain't 
none  of  my  business  who  you  write  to.  You  know  better'n 
I  do  'bout  Guy ;  for  you're  enough  sight  smarter'n  I  be,  I 
know  !  "  And  he  entreated  so  earnestly  to  be  permitted  to 
show  his  devotion  by  conveying  the  missive,  that  Lucy  could 
not  well  refuse  him  had  she  wished  to. 

"  Good-night,  then,  Archy.  I  can  go  alone  the  rest  of  the 
way,  and  carry  the  boxes."  And,  dismissing  him  with  a 
kind  word  he  never  forgot,  she  lingered  there  in  the  shadows 
on  the  bridge,  listening  to  the  prophetic  waters ;  while  Archy 
hurried  away,  clasping  tight  the  letter,  and  blistering  it  with 
his  tears. 


20  A  HOST'S    ADVENTURES. 


n. 

AR  CUT'S   ADVENTURES. 

ACK  through  the  village  went   the   discarded 
lover  on  his  miserable  errand. 

Up  a  long,  lonesome  road  he  turned,  over  the 
hills.  A  clear  moon  shone  in  the  heavens ;  the  village  below 
him  lay  deep  clown  in  the  dewy  valley ;  while,  before  him, 
solemn  mountains  lifted  their  silent  crags  in  the  misty  distance. 

A  group  of  Lombardy  poplars,  away  on  the  left,  reared 
their  gloomy  tops  above  the  surrounding  foliage,  and  guided 
Archy  to  the  house  he  was  to  visit.  The  poplars  fronted  a 
cross-road,  and  bordered  an  avenue  leading  up  to  a  large 
brown  mansion-house  in  the  midst  of  shady  grounds.  Over 
sleeping  fruit-trees  and  still  garden-walks  lay  the  white  mantle 
of  the  moonshine :  a  fountain  trickled  musically  somewhere, 
not  far  off;  and,  all  around,  the  air  was  fragrant  with  the 
breath  of  flowers. 

Poor  Archy's  heart  swelled  with  a  tumult  of  conflicting 
emotions  as  he  walked  in  among  the  great  gloomy  poplars, 
bearing  Lucy's  letter.  There  in  that  fine  house  lived  her 


ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES.  21 

lover,  heir  to  all  this  magnificent  estate  :  what  was  he,  then, 
a  poor  widow's  son,  ever  to  think  of  loving  her  ?  But 
Guy  was  a  wild  youth,  and  her  intercourse  with  him  was 
secret ;  and  maybe  he  would  break  her  heart,  as  it  was  said 
he  had  broken  more  than  one  poor  heart  before  :  thinking 
of  which,  Archy's  soul  was  filled  with  bitterness  and  burning 
jealousy ;  and  he  felt,  in  his  hatred  of  Guy,  that  he  could  bind 
him  to  his  flying-machine  (if  it  was  only  finished),  and  send 
him  up  into  eternal  clouds,  without  mercy. 

As  he  approached,  however,  his  hate  was  changed  to  fear. 
He  had  always  felt  an  instinctive  dread  of  grand  folks  gener 
ally,  and  of  the  Banningtons  in  particular.  The  colonel  was 
a  terrible  man,  with  frightful  paralytic  limbs  ;  and  Guy  was  a 
reckless  fellow,  who  kept  a  number  of  large  fierce  dogs,  which 
Archy  looked  and  hearkened  for  now,  pausing  among  the  pop 
lars  with  thrills  of  terror. 

But  the  dogs  were  chained  in  their  kennels  that  summer 
night.  No  savage  growl  or  sudden  onset  of  wolfish  brutes 
leaping  out  from  shadowy  places  threatened  the  timorous  let 
ter-bearer.  He  hastened  to  a  side-door,  where  he  saw  a  light, 
and  was  admitted  by  the  housekeeper.  He  had  escaped  the 
dogs ;  but  now  Guy,  scarcely  less  formidable,  was  to  be  con 
fronted. 

In  a  small  library-room,  furnished  with  richly  carved  book 
cases,  the  walls  hung  with  pictures,  and  fantastically  adorned 
with  implements  and  insignia  of  war  and  sport,  —  horse-pis 
tols,  foils,  rifles,  spurs,  a  short  sword,  a  long  sword,  a  mili- 


22  ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES. 

tary  sasli  and  plume,  —  in  a  great  arm-chair  luxuriantly  repos 
ing,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  wreaths  of  smoke  about  his  head, 
and  a  book  lying  open  in  the  lamplight  beside  him,  Archy 
found  his  dreaded  rival. 

A  well-proportioned  youth,  with  a  broad,  shapely  head  cov 
ered  by  a  mass  of  carelessly  tossed,  wavy  brown  hair ;  eye 
brows  strong,  and  beautifully  arched ;  blue  eyes ;  imperious 
mouth ;  decidedly  a  sanguine  and  impetuous  temperament, 
but  by  no  means  so  wicked-looking  as  Archy's  imagination 
had  pictured  him,  —  such  was  the  proud  and  ill-reputed  Guy. 

Archy,  who  had  expected  to  be  met  by  haughtiness  and 
scorn,  was  almost  charmed  into  admiration  by  the  youth's 
easy  politeness  and  radiant  manner  •  but,  when  he  saw  the 
expression  of  triumphant  joy  that  shone  in  his  handsome 
face  as  he  ran  his  eye  over  the  letter,  his  bitterness  and  burn 
ing  jealousy  returned,  and  he  glared  at  him  darkly  from  a 
corner. 

"  Archibald  is  your  name  ?  "  cried  the  pleasant  Guy. 

"  Yessir,"  muttered  Archy. 

"  Archibald,  I  thank  you  ever  so  much  :  give  me  your 
hand." 

Archy  would  have  put  out  his  hand ;  but  he  saw  that  Guy's 
had  money  in  it,  and  he  shrank  back. 

"  I  didn't  come  over  here  for  pay.  I  come  to  please  Miss 
Arlyn." 

"  I  like  you  the  better  for  that.  But  you  won't  refuse  a 
little  present."  And,  returning  the  money  to  his  pocket,  Guy 


ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES.  23 

took  from  the  desk  a  splendid  pocket-knife,  with  a  diversity 
of  blades,  which  fascinated  the  eye  of  the  genius,  and  proved 
too  great  a  temptation  to  be  resisted. 

Archy  accepted  the  gift,  therefore,  and  departed  :  but,  all  the 
way  back,  the  memory  of  Guy's  radiant  face  tortured  his  soul ; 
and  the  knife  weighed  heavier  and  heavier  in  his  conscientious 
pocket,  until,  arrived  in  sight  of  his  mother's  cottage,  he 
plucked  it  forth,  and  angrily  threw  it  into  a  clump  of  sumachs 
by  the  fence. 

The  sound  of  a  foot  on  the  iron  scraper  aroused  the  widow 
as  she  sat  knitting  and  waiting ;  and,  with  tears  of  hope  and 
fondness  beaming  in  her  eyes,  she  sprang  to  meet  her  son. 
His  prolonged  absence  had  been  to  her  convincing  evidence 
of  the  success  of  his  suit.  She  saw  Lucy  smile  sweetly  as 
she  accepted  him ;  and  for  the  last  two  hours  she  had  imagined 
the  happy  lovers  seated  familiarly  side  by  side  on  the  sofa  in 
Mrs.  Pinworth's  parlor,  exchanging  tender  confidences,  and 
laying  plans  for  the  future.  What  else  could  keep  him  so 
long  ?  And  now,  candle  in  hand,  she  smilingly  opened  the 
door  to  welcome  and  congratulate  him. 

"  Well,  my  son  !  what's  the  good  news?"  she  fondly  asked 
as  Archy  staggered  in. 

The  genius  made  no  answer ;  but  his  hat  was  pitched  in  an 
attitude  of  despair  over  his  brow,  and  great  weights  of  grief 
hung  upon  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  Why,  Archy  !  what's  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothin' ! "  muttered  Archy  in  a  cracked,  uncertain 
voice. 


A) 


'    '   v>       -o  '    ;, K       .       •        ,•  •    ' 

V-1-.   -       ;-•         •  !.-    «: I- 

-Ut,  rf  win*,  you  wu»  tdkia'  OY«T  Ow  vtddifi' 

\     "„      I.         '  I- .,,.,,.,,      ,,,,„  ,,  ,;,,,,      ,v 

lor,;.   Ml   *Wl   W   I   '     ' 

(  UMM  W,"  *a«l  Ar^jy,  wttui^iag  Ut 
r  <|MW^|  I'd  \#  «idb  ti  :  • « tx>  —  i< 

1    you  «OOM  right  \wm*  a.ud  '•«  I 

1  tBianutired  dbt  widow. 
8bi-  <  list  ]/>iut.      ' 

.> 

v>  '          .        ,,,,.,.-..,          .)••.•••  '  •         '.•     •  •          u     •    :     •< 

• 

,'"     ,      •  '  " •'   '        '•"       •  '    >    '       '   '     >••>'       '   'A'J 

..;  flaelov  «IWMJ.'" 

y  t-l»*e," 


A  ROOT'S    A  f>  I   i    \   ri    | 

"  Some  rich  man,  [  M'JK^C  she  thinks,  because  nlic'.-, 
1  Many  a  one,  for  land,  takes  a  fool  l>y  the  hand.' 
you  euro,  my  son.      *  lie  that's  poor  when  h  1  shall 

!i   l>e[oio  hc'.s  l)itiic<l  ;  '  and  there's  en  r  gals 

that'll  have  ye  he." 

"  No,  no,  not  as  <.'/  •!  and  I  don't  ever  w.-mf  to  l>e 

•  >w  !  " 

"  Conic,   you    mu.-stn't    i?ivc.   n|»    HO.      ['11    tell  yo    . 
Arehy,"  said  the  widow,  trying  to  think  <  !M;<  r 

him,  "  you'll  make  a  fortin'  yet  out  of  i 
MK.pcllin' 

iniill  and  ridis  is  the  eut-  all  !  " 

"The  hoi  ..(•  propeller  may-  .,  for  all   1  cai 

sha'n't  tech  it  agin  !  " 

"Oh,  yen,  you  will !  don't  tal 

Um       I    •  •    bten   tliinkm  y  you 

said,  —  tie  u  |.i  a,  je.st  out  f   (S.r!. 

so'H't   \\hcn    he    triew  to  git  it  he'll  haf  to  turn  the.  u 

('•Hue,  we'll  git  out  the  churn  i ••  I  try  it." 

"  ('ant't  now,"  r.aid  An--hy. 
"CWtV     Why  not  V" 
"  '(hiUHO  I  used  the  wh- 
"What  for  V" 

Mf  " 

"  Don't  r.w,ar,  my  non,"  im  -\<:. 

"That    don! 
Archy. 


26  ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES. 

• 

"  And  why  don't  you  finish  that?" 

"  'Cause  I  can't  till  punkins  git  ripe,  so  I  can  try  one." 

"  There  was  your  labor-savin'  corn-husker  you  had  last 
year  —  what  ever  become  o'  that?" 

"  'Twouldn't  work." 

1 '  Wouldn't  work  !     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Cause  all  ears  o'  corn  don't  happen  to  be  of  a  bigness; 
which  I  didn't  think  on  at  fust." 

"  But  your  flyin'-machine,  my  son  "  — 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  flyin'-machine  !  It  never'll  go.  I 
shall  take  that,  and  the  horse-propeller,  and  the  punkin-parer, 
and  every  thing  else,  and  burn  'em  all  up  together  !  "  said  the 
disconsolate  Archy. 

"  Well,  well,  my  son,"  —  the  widow  took  his  head  in  her 
lap  to  comfort  him,  —  "no  wonder  you  feel  kind  o'  down  in 
the  mouth  to-night.  But  you'll  be  in  better  sperits  to-mor 
row.  You'd  better  go  to  bed  now  perty  soon,  and  git  a  good 
night's  rest.  '  Airly  to  bed,  and  airly  to  rise,  makes  a  man 
healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise.'  You'll  be  bright  as  a  dollar  in 
the  mornin',  I'll  prophesy  !  " 

Archy  went  to  his  room,  sat  by  the  window,  and  looked 
across  the  moonlit  silent  fields  towards  Lucy's  home.  His 
heart  was  very  heavy  still  Ho  could  not  think  of  sleep  ;  he 
could  not  get  breath  enough  to  sigh  with  in  the  little  chamber. 
But  the  night  was  dewy  and  cool,  and  it  invited  him  forth. 

Stealing  from  the  house,  he  crossed  the  orchard,  and  wan 
dered  down  the  road,  past  the  mill-pond,  and  through  the 


ARCHY' S    AD  VENTURES..  27 

Jj 

quiet  village  to  the  bridge.  The  river  glimmered  cold  in 
the  moonshine,  dashing  over  dark  rocks  ;  and  the  voice  of  the' 
waters  sounded  mournful  and  lonesome  to  his  soul.  He  won 
dered  if  they  had  ever  sounded  so  to  anybody  before,  and 
thought  of  himself  as  the  only  miserable  being  in  the  uni 
verse. 

Lucy,  he  thought,  was  happy  :  Lucy  was  sleeping  there  in 
the  still  cottage,  which  he  had  come  all  this  distance  with  his 
aching  heart  just  to  look  at  once  more,  and  sigh  hopelessly  for 
her.  The  moon  shone  brightly  upon  the  white  gable,  and  sil 
vered  the  lilacs  and  quinces  that  screened  the  lower  windows 
of  the  house.  Archy  knew  her  room  :  and,  climbing  the 
garden  fence,  he  entered  softly  among  the  shrubbery,  and  laid 
himself  down  upon  the  earth,  beneath  the  starry  heavens, 
where  he  could  watch  her  windows ;  wishing  he  might  lie 
there  and  watch  there  until  his  soul  sank  into  the  oblivion  of 
that  blessed  sleep  from  which  there  is  no  awaking.  Foolish, 
foolish  Archy,  not  to  know  that  in  a  few  days  his  flying- 
machine  would  once  more  have  an  interest  for  him,  and  that 
even  Guy's  pocket-knife  would  give  life  a  flavor ! 

While  he  lay  there,  the  dull  tramp  of  hoofs  and  the  muffled 
grinding  of  light  wheels  through  the  sand  caught  his  ear.  A 
vehicle  stopped  by  the  fence.  A  man  alighted,  tied  his  horse, 
and,  climbing  into  the  garden,  passed  within  three  yards  of 
Archy  lying  darkly  on  the  ground.  The  genius  crouched  and 
trembled,  and  listened  for  dogs ;  for,  as  the  form  moved  by 
him  in  the  moonlight,  he  recognized  the  proud,  confident,  dan 
gerous  Guy. 


28  ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES. 

But  no  dogs  came  snuffing  after;  and,  stilling  his  wild  heart 
beats,  Archy  watched.  And  now  he  almost  cried  out  with 
agony,  so  bitter  was  his  woe,  so  sharp  his  jealous  pangs ;  for, 
when  the  wild  youth  shook  the  boughs  of  the  rustling  lilac 
under  Lucy's  window,  a  beautiful  head  with  curls  stole  out  of 
the  shadows  of  the  chamber,  and  appeared  in  the  moonlight, 
looking  down  into  the  gloom. 

The  genius  crept  away,  but  hid  again  by  the  fence,  as  two 
forms,  issuing  together  from  the  garden,  passed  into  the  street, 
and  silently  mounted  the  vehicle.  Then  again  was  heard  the 
dull  tramp  of  hoofs,  with  the  muffled  grinding  of  wheels  along 
the  sandy  street ;  and  Archy  was  alone  under  the  stars. 

"  0  Lucy,  Lucy !  you  give  your  love  to  that  bad  man, 
who  don't  know  the  vally  on't ;  and  he'll  break  your  heart 
wus'n  you  have  broke  mine  !  " 

Having  uttered  this  prophecy  as  he  recrossed  the  bridge, 
Archy  returned  home,  and  went  to  bed.  He  fell  asleep  al 
most  immediately,  and  dreamed  that  a  flock  of  wild  flying- 
machines  alighted  on  his  mother's  door-yard,  where  Lucy  fed 
them  out  of  her  new  flower-boxes ;  and  that  Guy  Bannington 
was  changed  into  a  dog-churn,  but  still  insisted  on  smoking 
his  cigar  while  Carlo  was  turning  him. 

It  was  late  the  next  morning  when  he  awoke.  The  birds 
were  singing  before  his  window,  and  the  sun  was  shining  upon 
his  bed. 

"  Well,  my  son  !  "  said  Mrs.  Brandle,  greeting  him  with 
a  cheerful  smile  as  he  made  his  appearance  :  "  you  have  had 


AKCHY'S    ADVENTURES.  29 

a  nice  sleep,  haven't  ye  ?  You  look  bright  as  can  be  !  I  have 
milked  the  cow  and  fed  the  pig,  so's't  you  can  go  to  work  on 
your  horse-propeller  right  arter  breakfast." 

Archy  was  touched  by  his  mother's  kindness,  but  lugubri 
ously  shook  his  uncombed  head  at  the  horse-propeller  and 
breakfast.  He  went  to  the  shop  in  a  little  while ;  and  Mrs. 
Brandle,  hearing  the  noise  of  hammering  and  sawing,  peeped 
softly  in  to  see  what  he  was  doing.  He  was  finishing  some 
flower-boxes  commenced  the  day  before. 

"  Oh  !"  said  the  widow,  in  a  kind,  half-reproachful  tone, 
"are  ye  to  work  on  them?  What's  your  notion,  my 
son?" 

"  I  told  her  I  would  finish  'em  and  take  'em  over  to-day," 
said  Archy. 

Firm  in  his  resolution  to  keep  his  promise,  he  put  the  boxes 
carefully  together,  and  set  off  with  them  that  forenoon. 

Reaching  Mrs.  Pin  worth's  house,  he  placed  the  boxes  on 
the  piazza,  and  was  hurrying  away,  when  a  voice  spoke  to 
him ;  and,  looking  round,  he  saw  Lucy's  face  at  a  window. 
She  beckoned  him  back,  met  him  on  the  piazza,  and  gave  him 
her  hand. 

"  Ye  want  me  to  put  dirt  in  the  boxes  for  ye  ?  "  asked  the 
genius. 

"  No,  Archy,  but  to  thank  you.  Perhaps  I  shall  not  see 
you  many  times  more,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  0  Lucy  !     Be  you  goin'  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Archy !     They  mustn't  hear.     I  shall  always 


30  ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES. 

remember  you  kindly.  Be  good,  be  kind  to  your  mother, 
and  you  will  be  happy." 

While  Archy  was  choking,  and  trying  to  say  something, 
she  disappeared.  It  was  all  like  a  dream  to  him,  —  her  pale 
face,  her  anxious  and  distressed  look,  her  sweet,  gentle  voice. 
Reluctantly  he  left  the  piazza,  and  returned  home. 

"  My  son  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Brandle  with  a  beaming  counte 
nance,  "  you  can't  guess  who  has  been  here  ?  " 

"  Who  has  ?  "  asked  Archy. 

"  Guy  Bannington,"  smiled  the  widow. 

"  What  did  he  want?  "  asked  the  genius  with  darkening 
countenance. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  Sich  a  nice  chance  it  is  for  you, 
my  son  !  Col.  Bannington,  you  know,  —  he  can't  walk ;  and 
Aaron  Burble,  that  takes  care  on  him  and  sees  to  things,  has 
too  much  to  do ;  and  they  jest  want  to  git  you  to  wheel  him 
about  in  his  chair.  They  keep  the  dogs  chained  up  ;  and  you 
can  be  to  hum  mor'n  half  the  time,  Guy  says,  and  git  good 
pay  ;  and  the  work  won't  be  nothin'  but  fun  !  " 

The  widow  was  all  smiles ;  but  Archy's  face  did  not  brighten. 

"  'Sfer  suthin'  'sides  that  Guy  wants  me  !  "  he  muttered, 
but  refused  to  state  the  nature  of  the  diabolical  business  in 
which  he  suspected  that  he  was  to  be  employed. 

"  Don't  you  go  to  gittin'  any  sich  notions  into  your  head," 
said  Mrs.  Brandle.  "  '  An  easy  fool  is  a  knave's  tool,'  as  the 
old  sayin'  is ;  but  you're  smart  enough  to  look  out  for  your 
self;  and  I  don't  imagine  Guy  is  half  so  bad  as  some  folks 


ARCHY'S    ADVENTURES.  31 

say.  For  my  part,  I  don't  see  how  anybody  can  help  likin' 
him  ;  for  he's  jest  as  perlite  as  he  can  be." 

That  was  gall  to  Archy,  who  scowlingly  knocked  in  the 
crown  of  his  straw  hat  over  his  forehead,  and  looked  glum. 

After  dinner,  however,  he  was  persuaded  to  go  and  call 
on  Colonel  Bannington.  The  colonel's  wheeled  chair  decided 
him.  He  came  home  quite  cheerful,  having  accepted  the 
situation ;  reclaimed  the  discarded  pocket-knife  from  the  su 
machs  ;  and  immediately  set  to  work  to  construct  a  new  and 
improved  patent  hand-carriage  for  invalids. 


32  COLONEL    BANNINGTON. 


m. 

COLONEL  BANNINGTON. 

RCHY  entered  upon  his  new  duties  the  next 
morning.  He  was  at  first  dreadfully  afraid  of 
the  colonel,  and  the  sight  of  Guy  reminded  him 
sharply  of  his  woe  :  nevertheless,  his  occupation  was  little  else 
than  sport. 

The  next  day  it  had  ceased  to  he  a  novelty,  and  he  did  not 
like  it  quite  so  well.  On  the  third  day  it  hecame  a  very 
serious  business ;  and,  on  the  fourth,  drudgery.  Geniuses  do 
not  like  drudgery. 

Up  and  clown  the  gravelled  avenue,  and  round  and  round 
among  the  garden-walks,  all  that  fourth  day  afternoon,  Archy 
wheeled  the  colonel. 

"  Fast !  "  and  he  gave  speed  to  the  little  vehicle.  "  Slow 
now  !  "  and  they  moved  round  more  leisurely.  "  Halt !  " 
and  at  the  word  Archy  stayed  his  hand,  always  gladly. 

The  colonel  was  flying  from  a  hungry  phantom  which  pur 
sued  him  ever,  and  whether  he  travelled  or  delayed,  rode 


COLONEL    BANNINGTON.  33 

fast  or  slow,  came  always  close  behind  him,  closer  than  Archy 
who  pushed,  and  preyed  upon  his  soul. 

A  restless,  middle-aged  man,  with  silvered  hair ;  sharp,  at 
tenuated  features ;  cold,  keen  eyes  as  gray  as  steel ;  an  active 
walker  and  bold  rider  once,  energetic  in  business  or  sport,  but 
now  a  cripple,  with  his  stricken  limbs  laid  out  helplessly  before 
him  on  his  chair,  —  the  colonel  hated  worse  than  death  that 
phantom  of  Ennui. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  to  have  legs,  Archy !  " 

"  Yes,  sir!  "  said  the  genius  emphatically,  wiping  his  fea 
tures. 

"  Run  with  'em,  and  bring  my  shot-gun  !  " 

Archy  ran,  and  returned  puffing. 

"  Forward  !  "  said  the  colonel,  cocking  the  piece,  with  his 
eye  on  a  woodpecker  in  one  of  the  fruit-trees.  "  Halt !  " 
It  started  to  fly.  BANG  !  and  the  bird  dropped  with  scarce  a 
flutter,  falling  aslant  into  a  bed  of  verbenas,  where  its  bril 
liant  cap  and  blood-stained  plumage  vied  with  the  tints  of  the 
flowers. 

"  Pick  it  up,  and  call  the  cat,"  said  the  colonel  bitterly. 

He  had  shot  the  woodpecker ;  but  he  had  not  killed  the 
phantom,  which  was,  after  all,  the  object  to  be  destroyed. 

The  cat  devoured  the  bird,  and  the  phantom  devoured 
him. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  he  cried  impatiently,  as  Archy  returned 
from  feeding  puss  and  replacing  the  gun.  "  Stir  your  legs 
while  you  can  !  Maybe  you'll  wake  up  some  morning,  and 
3 


34  COLONEL    BANNINGTON. 

find,  instead  of  legs,  a  couple  of  logs  in  bed  with  you,  as  I 
did,  —  dang  'em  !  "  And  the  colonel  struck  his  useless  mem 
bers  with  his  cane. 

"  I  was  running  fast  as  I  could  !  "  said  Archy.  "  I'm 
some  tired,  though  !  "  And  he  recommenced  pushing. 

"  A  hard  way  to  earn  three  dollars  a  week,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir!  "  emphasized  Archy. 

"  Well,  you  do  so  much  better  than  I  expected,  I  am  going 
to  give  you  four." 

Archy's  face  beamed,  so  happy  that  it  was  a  pity  the  colonel 
could  not  see  it.  "Four  dollars!  —  won't  ma  be  glad!" 
What  he  felt  was  audible  in  his  tones,  however ;  and  for  a 
minute  the  colonel  lost  sight  of  the  phantom. 

"  The  sun  is  almost  down.  We'll  feed  the  fish,  Archy  : 
then  you  may  go." 

The  invalid  guided  his  chair  by  a  handle  commanding  the 
front  wheels,  and  so  approached  a  fountain  in  the  midst  of 
the  garden.  It  was  a  marble-rimmed  basin,  with  a  brazen 
swan  in  the  centre,  holding  its  neck  upstretched,  and  spurting 
from  its  bill  a  perpendicular  jet,  which  kept  a  golden  ball 
whirling  and  dancing  in  the  sunshine. 

"  Now  bring  some  worms." 

This  was  the  best  sport  of  the  day  to  Archy,  who  ran  to 
dig  the  bait. 

The  jet  being  shut  off,  the  surface  of  the  water,  lately 
dashed  into  glittering  ripples,  had  by  this  time  become  tran 
quil  ;  and  the  colonel  could  see  in  the  clear  gravelled  depths 
of  the  fountain  his  favorite  fish. 


COLONEL    BANNINGTON.  35 

Archy  soon  came  running  with  both  fists  closed ;  but  tripped, 
and,  tumbling  headlong,  ruined  a  fine  dahlia  by  his  awkward 
downfall.  The  colonel's  eye  glittered,  and  he  uttered  an  ex 
clamation. 

"I — I  hung  on  to  the  worms!  "  stammered  the  genius, 
glancing,  with  a  ludicrous  expression  of  mingled  seriousness 
and  fright,  from  the  dahlia  to  the  colonel. 

"  You  are  a  blundering  fellow  !  How  did  you  lose  those 
fingers?"  asked  Bannington. 

"  Oh !  cut  'em  off,",  said  Archy,  not  inclined  to  enter  into 
particulars. 

The  colonel  held  a  worm  near  the  surface  of  the  water,  till 
a  large  trout  below  began  to  stir  himself,  then  rose,  and  with  a 
quick  splash  took  it  from  his  fingers. 

*'  Drop  one,  Archy."  A  worm  fell  on  the  water;  and  in 
stantly  up  flashed  a  smaller  trout,  showing  his  bright  sides  clear 
above  the  surface. 

Archy  now  got  permission  to  feed  one  from  his  hand  as  the 
colonel  had  done.  But  by  this  time  the  agreeable  titillation 
of  the  previously  swallowed  worm  under  the  speckled  waist 
coat  of  the  great  trout  had  rendered  him  bold  and  voracious  ; 
and,  leaping  from  the  water,  he  not  only  took  the  offered 
bait,  but  also  Archy's  unlucky  finger,  which  he  raked  severely 
with  his  fine  sharp  teeth.  This  was  unexpected  sport  to  the 
colonel ;  but  it  lasted  but  a  moment. 

"  Who's  that  girl  passing  ?  " 

Archy  forgot  his  finger,  and  gazed. 


36  COLONEL    BANNINGTON. 

"  A  sweetheart  of  yours  ?  She  can't  help  casting  an  eye  at 
my  flowers.  Run  and  tell  her  to  come  in  :  I've  something 
for  her." 

Archy  gasped,  and  rubbed  his  hands  on  his  trousers,  and 
turned  white  and  red  in  streaks,  as  he  went  to  execute  this 
order.  The  girl  was  hurrying  away,  and  appeared  to  stop 
reluctantly. 

"  Ah,  Archy  !  how  do  you  do  ?  "  she  said  with  a  faint  smile 
under  her  hood. 

"Mr.  Bannington,  he  wants  to  see.  ye,"  said  the  genius 
through  the  fence. 

"  Guy  does  ?  "  in  a  startled  whisper,  with  a  flashing  look 
out  of  her  surprised  hazel-eyes. 

"  No :  the  cunnel.     There  he  is  !  " 

The  surprise  changed  to  consternation. 

' '  Archy,  I  can't  see  him  !  What  does  he  want,  what  can 
he  want,  of  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  come  in.  He  said  so.  He'll  be  mad  if  you  don't !  " 
Archy  gave  an  anxious  glance  over  his  shoulder.  * '  Say, 
Lucy  :  you  know  him,  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  Too  well!     Go  back  :  he  calls  you.     I  will  come  in.  " 

More  agitated  now  than  Archy  himself,  she  returned  to  the 
gate,  and  entered. 

"  Forward  !  "  The  colonel  took  a  pair  of  scissors  from  his 
pocket,  and  commenced  cutting  a  bouquet  from  the  flower 
beds.  "  Walk  this  way,"  — to  Lucy,  who  had  paused  by  a 
brilliant  plot  of  pansies,  and  was  waiting  tremblingly.  "Are 
you  fond  of  flowers?  " 


COLONEL    BANNINGTOX.  37 

Then  she  saw,  and  Archy,  collecting  his  wits,  also  discov 
ered,  that  he  had  not  yet  recognized  her;  and  even  the  genius 
experienced  a  qualm  of  apprehension,  confusedly  remember 
ing  what  cause  she  had  to  dread  an  encounter  with  the  crippled 
colonel. 

"  Sir  —  yes  —  I  am  very  fond  of  them,"  she  managed  to 
utter,  looking  how  to  escape. 

"  Do  you  live  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir."  She  bent  over  a  heliotrope,  and  her  hood  hid 
her  face. 

"Forward!"  The  colonel  guided  his  chair  round  a 
curved  path,  and  came  up  before  her.  Lucy,  perceiving  that 
a  recognition  was  inevitable,  strove  to  be  calm.  "Halt!" 
He  clipped  a  rose.  "  Help  yourself  to  any  thing  I  can't  reach. 
Call,  when  you  pass  this  way  again,  and  Archy  —  forward  !  — 
shall  give  you  some." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lucy. 

The  colonel  started.  He  now  observed  a  grace  in  her  atti 
tudes,  and  a  sweetness  and  refinement  in  her  accents,  which 
could  not  belong  to  the  sort  of  person  he  had  supposed  her ; 
and  it  may  be,  that,  at  the  sight  of  those  brown  curls  peeping 
from  the  hood,  old  recollections  began  to  rush  upon  him. 

"  Where  do  you  live? "  he  inquired. 

"  Colonel  Bamiington,"  said  Lucy,  "  I  thought  you  knew 
me  when  you  sent  to  call  me  in,  else  I  should  not  have  come," 
—  turning  full  upon  him  her  gentle  face,  full  of  timidity,  pity, 
and  pleading. 


38  COLONEL    BANNINGTON. 

"  Arlyn's  daughter!"  almost  shrieked  the  invalid,  his 
countenance  fading  white.  "  What  are  you  here  for  ?  " 

"Don't  forget;  you  sent  Archibald,"  began  Lucy:  but 
he  did  not  hear. 

"  You  have  come  to  look  at  me ;  to  see  me  with  these  legs ; 
to  write  to  him  how  I  go  wheeled  in  a  chair  ! " 

"  God  knows/'  cried  Lucy,  —  "  God  knows,  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you!  "  clasping  her  hands  with  earnestness  and  anguish. 
"  And  my  father  —  my  father  would  be  sorry  too,  if  he  should 
see  you  so  !  " 

"  Sorry  !  "  hissed  back  the  sick  man,  scattering  the  flowers 
in  his  rage.  "  It's  a  lie  !  He  crippled  me ;  he  put  me  in 
this  chair ;  and,  if  he  was  here,  I'd  have  none  of  his  sorrow,  but 
his  own  legs,  by  Heaven !  I've  a  loaded  gun  for  'em  when 
he  comes  :  tell  him  so,  —  tell  him  so  !  —  Forward  ! " 

Archy,  beside  himself  with  horror,  mechanically  held  his 
hand  to  the  chair,  but  did  not  push. 

"  Colonel  Bannington!  "  said  Lucy,  rising  above  all  fear, 
"  my  good  friend  once!"  —  and,  advancing  close  to  his 
chair,  she  stood  before  him,  and  looked  upon  him,  all  love  and 
tears.  "  I  remember,  and  you  remember  too,  how  I  used  to 
play  in  this  garden,  and  you  were  good  to  me  "  — 

"Forward,  I  say!"  —  and  the  invalid  twisted  his  arms 
violently. 

But  Lucy  did  not  step  aside,  and  Archy  did  not  push. 

"  You  knew  me  then,  —  that  I  never  lied  to  you ;  and  you 
must  believe  me  now!  "  she  went  on  with  strange  energy, 


COLONEL    BANNINGTOtf.  39 

her  hood  flying  back,  her  color  heightened,  her  whole  soul 
flashing  out.  "Believe  me,  my  father  never  intended  you 
any  injury,  and  is  not  the  cause  of  this  !  "  — with  a  glance 
at  the  paralyzed  limbs.  "  How  could  he  be  ?  " 

"  You'd  better  not,  — better  not !  "  threatened  the  cripple. 
"Go!" 

"  I  will;  for,  hate  me  as  you  may,  I  can't  in  return  wish 
you  so  much  pain  as  the  sight  of  me  gives  you,"  with  a  hand 
kerchief  striking  the  drops  quickly  from  her  eyes.  "  You 
shall  never  see  me  again  !  Good-by  !  " 

And  she  was  gone. 

Archy  began  to  push. 

"  Stop  !  " 

There  lay  upon  the  walk  a  rose  the  colonel  had  plucked  for 
her ;  and  he  must  needs  thrust  his  cane  into  it,  and  pierce  and 
tear  it,  as  he  had  already  pierced  and  torn  her  heart. 

"  Forward  1  "  Dumb  with  dismay,  Archy  obeyed.  "And 
next  time  I  say  go  on,  do  you  go  on,  no  matter  who  stands  in 
the  way,  if  it's  the  Almighty  !  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  assented  the  horrified  Archy. 

Clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard  ;  and  galloping  up  the  avenue 
came  Guy,  gayly  mounted,  and  accompanied  by  three  power 
ful  dogs.  Passing  the  house-corner,  he  sprang  off  lightly, 
dropping  the  reins  on  the  horse's  neck,  and  sending  him  to 
the  stables ;  then  advanced  to  meet  the  invalid. 

"  Well,  colonel,  how  have  you  got  through  the  day  ?  " 

"  Curse  those  animals  1     They  come  snuffing  around  me  as 


40  COLONEL    BANNINGTON. 

if"  —  the  colonel  made  a  cut  at  one  of  the  dogs  with  his  cane 
—  "  as  if  they  wanted  to  see  how  much  of  me  has  died  since 
morning !  ' 

"Ranger!  Blackfoot!  Bruce!"  Guy  pointed  the  way 
the  horse  had  gone  before  ;  and  the  dogs  dropped  their  tails, 
and  followed,  wonderfully  to  the  relief  of  Archy. 

Angry  with  himself  at  having  been  angry,  the  colonel 
gnawed  his  nervous  lips. 

"  I'm  just  like  those  diseased  poplars,  —  dying  limb  by 
limb  :  only  with  me  the  life  and  fire  all  crowds  into  the  upper 
parts  as  the  lower  parts  die ;  that's  what  makes  me  so  devilish 
irritable  !  You  must  bear  with  me,  boys  !  "  His  voice  be 
gan  to  break.  "  Help  me  into  the  house  now :  I  feel  the  dew. 
Guy,  don't  you  look  so  sober :  I  hate  to  see  you  !  What's  the 
matter?  "  sharply. 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  you  whip  my  dogs." 

"  But  do  you  really  care  if  I  strike  the  whelps?  " 

"No,  nor  if  you  strike  me,"  said  Guy. 

Brief,  cold  words,  apparently,  yet  tender.  Guy,  aware 
how  it  annoyed  the  colonel  to  see  any  one  seem  sorrowful  on 
his  account,  had  feigned  concern  for  his  dogs ;  but  his  father 
understood  him,  and  they  exchanged  silent  looks. 

Guy  motioned  to  Archy ;  and,  lifting  the  carriage  at  the 
door,  they  earned  it  up  the  steps,  and  set  it  down  in  the  hall. 

"  There,  Archy,  you  may  go."  And  Guy  wheeled  the 
chair  into  the  library ;  while  the  genius  ran  away,  rejoicing  at 
his  freedom,  but  looking  back  excitedly  to  see  if  the  dogs 
were  after  him. 


COLONEL    BANNINGTON.  41 

Having  secured  the  animals  in  the  kennels,  Guy  returned 
to  the  library. 

The  colonel  was  sitting  with  his  back  towards  the  door. 
A  salver  spread  with  tea-things  was  in  his  lap,  untouched. 
Before  him  on  the  wall  hung  a  pair  of  paintings,  aglow  in  the 
soft  red  twilight :  one,  a  picture  of  a  lady  and  child  ;  the  other, 
of  a  military  personage  on  horseback.  He  seemed  gazing  at 
the  portrait  of  the  lady  as  Guy  entered ;  then  his  head  sank 
shaking  on  his  breast;  and  Guy,  advancing,  had  a  side 
glimpse  of  the  sick  man's  face,  writhing  with  inward  tor 
ment. 

"  Waiting  to  have  me  at  supper  with  you?  "  said -the  son 
carelessly,  as  if  he  had  observed  nothing.  "  I've  had  my 
tea." 

The  colonel  grasped  his  knife  and  fork,  his  hands  trem 
bling  impotently  over  his  toast. 

"  Is  it  you,  Guy?  Dang  it !  "  —  dropping  his  knife,  — 
"  how  a  little  excitement  tears  me  to  pieces  now-days  !  " 
And,  attempting  to  sip  his  tea,  he  spilled  it. 

Guy  pretended  to  be  interested  in  a  cactus  that  hung  in  a 
basket  before  the  window. 

"  How  like  a  great  crawling  crab  that  thing  looks,  with  its 
awkward,  jointed,  long-reaching  claws !  " 

"  Guy,  can  you  guess  what'll  happen  next  time  that  cactus 
flowers  ?  "  asked  the  colonel.  "  It  has  blossomed  twice  : 
each  time  there  has  been  a  change  in  our  family.  The  first 
time,  I  was  married ;  the  second  time,  my  father  died,  — 


42  COLONEL    BANNINGTON. 

fourteen  years  ago.  It  will  flower  again  soon  :  what  is  to 
be  then,  — a  wedding  or  a  funeral?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  a  superstitious  man,  colonel." 

The  colonel  again  tried  to  eat  his  toast,  but  looked  up  at 
his  son  standing  by  the  window. 

"  You  are  a  tolerably  good-looking  fellow,  Guy." 

"  And  I  am  tolerably  well  aware  of  it." 

"  No  doubt !     Why  don't  you  get  married  ?  " 

"  I,  colonel?  "     Guy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  have  sowed  enough  wild  oats;  but  you  have  been 
behaving  a  good  deal  better  lately,  and  I  didn't  know  but 
there  might  be  a  reason  for  it."  Guy  turned  away  his  face. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  you  bring  a  beautiful  young  woman 
into  the  house,  Guy.  I  could  preach  you  a  sermon  on  that 
subject;  but"  — 

The  colonel  stopped.  Spiked  and  bristling  as  the  exterior 
of  his  life  was,  there  were  green  spots  within  that  iron  paling, 
sacred  as  the  graves  of  loved  ones. 

Guy  turned,  and  looked  at  the  portrait  of  himself  on  his 
mother's  knee,  till  his  tears  rushed  up  and  blurred  all. 

"  The  house  has  been  a  barn  since  she  went;  and  it  will 
be,  Guy,  until  your  wife  comes.  When  she  comes,  —  let  me 
give  you  a  word  of  warning,  — never,"  said  the  colonel  sol 
emnly,  —  "  never,  if  you  love  her,  give  her  an  unkind  look 
or  word !  " 

"  If  I  love  her,  I  surely  shall  not !  " 

"  Don't  we  kill  the  things  we  love?  "  retorted  the  colonel 


COLONEL    BANX1NGTON.  43 

quickly,  with  a  spasm  of  pain  in  his  face.  "  But  you'll  learn 
that  soou  enough  !  "  —  a  prophecy  which  Guy  had  afterwards 
bitter  cause  to  remember.  "  Isn't  that  a  woman's  picture 
you  carry  in  your  breast-pocket  ?  " 

Guy  started  like  one  who  has  a  fatal  secret  on  the  point 
of  exposure.  He  took  a  chair,  but,  instead  of  sitting  down, 
leaned  on  the  back  of  it,  and  twirled  it  under  his  hand. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed.  I've  seen  you  looking  at  it  when 
you  thought  I  was  asleep.  No  man  looks  at  any  but  a  wo 
man's  picture  the  way  you  have  looked  at  that." 

Guy  began  to  pace  the  room  excitedly. 

"What's  the  matter?  Won't  she  have  you  ?  By  Jove, 
boy !  if  you  think  of  her  as  I  guess  you  do  by  your  looks, 
you  are  no  son  of  mine  if  you  don't  get  her.  Dang  the  ob 
stacles,  rivals  or  parents  or  "  — 

"  Parents?  "  eagerly  asked  Guy. 

"  Of  course,  parents  are  secondary." 

"  But  if  you  were  a  parent  in  the  case  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  said  the  colonel  impatiently.  "  Don't  I  know  how 
much  we  both  need  a  woman  in  the  house  ?  And  I've  that 
faith  in  your  good  sense  and  taste,  that  the  girl  that  would 
suit  you  would  please  me  :  any  way,  I'd  risk  it.  I  don't 
care  if  she's  poor ;  you've  money  enough  :  and  I  know  you 
wouldn't  fall  in  love  with  one  that  wasn't  beautiful ;  though 
I  might  object  if  she  wasn't."  And  he  glanced  at  the  lady's 
picture  on  the  wall. 


44  COLONEL    BANNING  TON. 

Guy  fingered  the  miniature  in  his  pocket  nervously. 
"  Beautiful !  "  he  said  to  himself,  as  if  half  tempted  to  pro 
duce  it,  and  show  his  father  how  beautiful. 

"  Then  what  or  who  is  in  the  way  ?  Is  she  already  mar 
ried?" 

"  No  !  "  Guy  bent  his  strong  brows  and  clear  blue  eyes 
upon  the  colonel,  facing  him  boldly.  "  You  are  in  the  way  !  " 

"  I  ?  "  The  sick  man  flashed.  * '  She  objects  to  me,  then  ? 
She  knows  what  a  sharp-tempered  old  cripple  I  am !  " 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  cried  Guy,  his  features  charged  with 
emotion.  "  You  shouldn't  have  made  me  talk  on  this  sub 
ject  :  we'll  drop  it." 

"  No  !  "  cried  the  colonel,  with  a  sharp  suspicion  of  the 
truth.  "  Show  me  that  picture." 

Deliberately  Guy  removed  the  tea-tray,  wheeled  the  chair 
to  the  window,  and  placed  the  daguerrotype  open  in  the 
colonel's  hand. 

For  a  long  time,  Colonol  Bannington  regarded  it  without  a 
word ;  and  Guy,  watching  his  features,  saw  them  settle  and 
harden,  implacable  as  stone. 

"Guy!"  —  he  raised  his  steel-gray  eyes  to  the  flushed 
face  of  his  son,  —  "  the  day  and  the  hour  I  hear  of  your  mar 
rying  that  girl,  I  put  every  dollar  of  my  property  beyond 
your  reach  forever.  That's  all.  You  know  me  well." 

"  Alas,  I  do !  "  said  Guy  bitterly,  with  resolute,  proud- 
curving  lips :  "  you  are  the  most  vindictive  of  men  !  " 


COLONEL    BANNING  TON.  45 

"  I  am  vindictive  as  Cain,"  answered  the  colonel.  "  Here 
is  your  daguerrotype.  Do  with  it  and  do  with  me  as  you 
please." 

"  Thank  you  :  I  shall.  Good-night !  "  And  Guy  walked 
away  quietly  enough,  but  inwardly  furious  with  himself  for 
having  suffered  other  eyes  to  desecrate  Lucy's  picture. 


46  A    LOVE-CHASE. 


IV. 

A  LOVE-CHASE. 

HE  next  day,  Archy's  situation  was  a  sinecure. 
The  colonel  was  too  ill  to  leave  his  bed. 
The  birds  were  singing,  the  dew  was  on  the 
flowers,  the  fountain  lisped  and  laughed,  the  golden  ball 
danced  in  the  sun ;  and  Archy  sat  on  the  marble  curb,  whis 
tling.  The  approach  of  Guy  reminded  him  that  he  was  mis 
erable  ;  and,  slipping  out  of  sight  a  certain  pocket-knife  he  was 
playing  with,  he  put  on  a  gloomy  countenance,  and  waited. 

Guy  had  not  yet  employed  him  in  any  diabolical  affair ; 
but  now,  the  genius  thought,  his  temptation  was  coming. 
But  the  young  man  only  wished  to  inquire  what  had  hap 
pened  to  his  father  just  before  he  rode  up  the  previous  even 
ing  ;  and,  having  obtained  the  unpleasant  information,  he 
walked  hastily  to  the  kennel,  released  Ranger,  and  departed, 
with  his  canine  companion  leaping  and  capering  around  him 
in  high  glee. 

Down  towards  the  little  village  nestled  in  the  misty  valley, 
with  its  few  chimney-smokes  rising  soft  and  thin  in  the  morn 
ing  air;  through  the  cool  elm-shaded  streets,  past  the  mill, 


A    LOVE-CHASE.  47 

and  across  the  bridge,  to  Mrs.  Pirrworth's  piazza,  —  went 
Ranger  and  his  master. 

The  approach  of  a  caller  created  a  fluttering  among  the  in 
mates  ;  one  running  to  peep  through  the  blinds,  another  has 
tening  to  the  glass,  and  both  whispering  hurriedly. 

"  It's  Guy  Bannington's  dog  !  " 

"  Dear  me  !  how  we  do  look  !  " 

"  I  can't  see  him  in  this  dress,  mother !  You  must  go  to 
the  door." 

"  Mercy  on  me,  Sophy  !  I  must  fix  my  hair  !  Run  and 
put  on  your ' '  — 

Rat-tat !  went  the  knocker. 

Then  all  was  hushed.  Guy  waited.  Ranger  wagged  his 
tail  on  the  piazza  floor.  After  a  delay  of  a  few  minutes,  a 
tall,  spare,  prim  female,  with  an  air  of  faded  gentility,  opened 
the  door. 

"  Mr.  Bannington  !  "  she  said  with  polite  surprise.  "  I 
thought  I  heard  a  knock  !  Will  you  walk  in  ?  "  —  retreating 
backwards  with  smiling,  precise  dignity. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Pinworth.     I  wish  to  see  Miss  Arlyn." 

The  lady's  expression  changed  instantly. 

"  Come  in  !  "  She  led  the  way  to  a  small  gloomy  parlor. 
"Be  seated,  Mr.  Bannington."  Instead  of  going  to  call 
Lucy,  she  placed  herself  stiff  and  stately  in  a  chair  facing  the 
visitor.  "  Mr.  Bannington,  I  am  grieved  and  astonished  !  " 

Guy  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  Can  I  afford  you  any  conso 
lation,  madam?  " 


48  A    LOVE-CHASE. 

"  When  I  need  consolation,  I  shall  apply  to  the  proper 
source  for  it,"  — Mrs.  Pin  worth  cast  a  holy  look  at  the  ceil 
ing.  "I  can  now  no  longer  doubt  your  designs  upon  my 
niece,  Mr.  Bannington." 

"  My  design  at  this  time  is  to  speak  with  her  a  few  minutes, 
I  beg  to  remind  you,"  observed  Guy. 

"  Ours  is  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  respectable  families  in 
the  State,  you  are  aware,  sir  !  "  said  the  lady.  "  If  disgrace 
comes  into  it  now,  it  will  be  through  my  niece.  She  is  a 
vain,  headstrong,  wilful  girl ;  and  ever  since  her  father  left 
her  in  my  charge"  — 

"Madam,"  Guy  interrupted  her,  "I'd  much  rather  just 
now  see  Miss  Arlyn  than  hear  your  remarks  about  her." 

There  was  something  in  his  manner,  civil  as  it  was,  which 
cut.  The  lady  quivered  and  gasped  a  little ;  then  said,  — 

"  I've  never  objected  to  your  seeing  Lucy  in  my  daughter's 
presence,  sir.  But  she  is  not  a  fit  person  to  be  your  wife,  — 
you  never  had  any  intention  of  making  her  your  wife,  —  and 
I  will  not  let  her  be  trifled  with." 

Wrath  and  scorn  flashed  up  in  the  young  man's  face ;  but 
he  calmly  measured  his  words. 

"  Whatever  my  intentions  are,  I  know  that  Lucy  Arlyn  is 
worthy  to  be  the  wife  of  a  much  better  man  than  I  pretend 
to  be.  I  repeat,  I  wish  to  speak  with  her ;  and,  for  once, 
not  in  the  presence  of  your  estimable  daughter." 

Mrs.  Pinworth  rose  with  a  spiteful  air. 

"  Lucy  is  not  at  home,  sir." 


A    LOVE-CHASE.  49 

"  Then  I  assure  you,  madam,  there  is  nothing  to  detain 
me  under  your  hospitable  roof,"  said  Guy,  rising  also.  "  Will 
you  be  so  kind  as  to  inform  me  where  she  is  ?  " 

"  There's  no  telling  any  thing  about  her  since  you  turned 
her  head.  She  acts  unaccountably.  Religious  counsel  has 
no  influence.  I've  labored  with  her  in  vain  !  " 

"It  is  just  possible,  Mrs.  Pinworth,  that  your  style  of 
labor  is  not  quite  the  thing.  Good-morning !  "  And  Guy 
bowed  himself  from  the  door. 

"Is  he  gone?  "  called  Sophy,  rushing  to  the  stairs  above 
in  elegant  dishabille.  "  Strange  you  couldn't  entertain  him 
just  a  minute  till  I  came  !  " 

"  It  was  Lucy  he  wanted  !  So  you  can  just  take  off  that 
dress  again,  and  go  and  wash  the  dishes !  " 

Guy  stood  upon  the  bridge,  irritated  and  irresolute.  The 
day  was  perfectly  beautiful.  Around  the  alder-tops,  and  over 
the  stream,  a  pair  of  king-birds  were  catching  flies,  - —  darting 
hither  and  thither,  or  skimming  close  to  the  foam  and  bubbles ; 
and  now,  alit,  watching  with  mild  eyes  from  the  dead  boughs 
of  a  bald  old  birch-tree  by  the  water.  Not  far  above,  the 
mill-dam  poured  its  snowy  and  reverberating  cascade.  The 
air  was  tingling  with  sweet  life.  The  pure  blue  of  the  sky 
was  set  off  by  dazzling  white  clouds.  Beyond  the  valley 
swelled  the  green  mountain-slopes,  with  forests  of  billowy 
foliage,  undulating  far  away  to  the  purple  and  violet  peaks 
which  seemed  melting  into  ether. 

Not  long  could  he  look  and  listen,  and  breathe  the  deli- 

*  4 


50  A    LOVE-CHASE. 

clous  air,  without  getting  into  sympathy  with  so  much  joy  and 
peace  and  beauty.  He  was  considering  what  he  should  do, 
when  he  observed  Eanger  snuffing  the  planks,  and  moving  off 
upon  the  sand,  with  his  long  ears  sweeping  almost  to  the 
ground.  Following  to  the  end  of  the  bridge,  he  discovered 
the  prints  of  shoes,  slender,  lightly  impressed ;  shoes,  possi 
bly  (he  thrilled  to  think) ,  worn  by  the  clearest  feet  in  the 
world.  Hanger,  as  if  in  sympathy  with  his  master,  scented 
the  delicate  lingering  aroma  of  those  prints,  and  gladly,  at  a 
word  and  gesture,  bounded  off  on  the  track. 

Guy  followed  up  into  the  main  street  of  the  village,  to  an 
open  staircase,  at  the  entrance  of  which  there  was  what  is 
termed  a  "  shingle,"  with  a  cocked  thumb  and  a  knowing 
finger  directing  the  way  to  the  office  of  "  Elphaz  Pelt,  attor 
ney  and  counsellor-at-law,  up  stairs." 

Then  Eanger  appeared  puzzled;  snuffed  in  and  out; 
bounded  up  stairs,  and  returned;  until  Guy  determined  to 
call  on  the  squire. 

"Where's  Elphaz?"  he  inquired  of  a  red-haired  law- 
student  writing  at  a  desk,  who  with  cringing  politeness  in 
formed  him  that  Squire  Pelt  had  gone  out.  "I'll  wager," 
said  Guy,  "  it's  some  young  woman  that  takes  him  from  his 
office  at  this  time  of  day." 

"Shouldn't  wonder!"  chuckled  the  red-haired  youth; 
"for  there  was  one  here,  — the  prettiest  girl  there  is  in  this 
town  too !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  whom  you  call  the  prettiest  girl, 
Abner." 


A    LOVE-CHASE.  51 

Flattered  by  this  familiar  appeal  to  his  taste  from  the  son 
of  his  master's  wealthiest  client,  Abner  fawned  up  to  him, 
rubbing  his  hands,  and  said,  "  I  mean  Lucy  Arlyn  !  " 

Guy  turned  on  his  heel. 

"  Ranger,  you're  worth  a  million  dollars  !  "  And,  leaving 
Abner  to  scratch  his  wondering  red  head,  he  hurried  down 
stairs. 

Going  out  of  the  doorway,  he  was  met  by  Squire  Pelt 
coming  in  ;  a  lean-looking,  angular  man,  with  a  clean-shaven, 
gristly  countenance,  barren  of  flesh,  but  unctuous  with  sua 
vity  ;  a  thin,  metallic  voice,  disagreeable  to  the  ear ;  and  a  pair 
of  grayish  twinkling  eyes,  with  a  cast  which  gave  them  the 
appearance  of  winking  shrewdly  at  each  other  across  the 
bridge  of  his  nose. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  my  friend  Guy?  "  asked  the  lawyer 
with  overflowing  affability.  With  a  hasty  excuse,  Guy  shook 
him  off.  "  Always  at  your  command,"  —  Elphaz  bowed  and 
flourished,  and  with  one  eye  (the  other  seemed  looking  across 
the  way  for  a  client)  followed  Guy,  while  Guy  followed  Ran 
ger. 

Down  from  a  gorge  in  the  eastern  hills  comes  a  mountain 
brook,  falling  into  the  river  just  above  the  mill-pond ;  along 
the  course  of  which  runs  a  road,  winding  between  the  torrent 
and  the  cliffs  which  shut  in  the  ravine.  This  road  Ranger 
took,  leading  his  master  by  waysides  still  shaded  and  glisten 
ing  with  dew ;  under  wild  banks  overgrown  with  briers,  and 
crowned  by  dark  hemlocks,  high  up  and  solitary  ;  amid  scat- 


52  A    LOVE-CHASE. 

tered  growths  of  ash-trees,  swamp-maples,  and  spotted  beeches ; 
and  through  cool  sweet  depths  of  shade,  odorous  with  pines, 
and  musical  with  the  noise  of  the  water-course. 

In  these  wild  scenes,  Guy  shook  off  his  troubles.  He  felt 
free  and  glad  as  the  crows  clamoring  in  the  tree-tops.  Gleams 
of  hope  and  peace  smiled  to  him  through  gloomy  ways,  like 
the  soft,  barred  sunshine  falling  aslant,  far  off  in  the  woods, 
upon  silent  trunks  and  boughs.  The  course  of  true  love 
never  did  run  smooth;  but  his  was  gushing  and  joyous  as 
that  mountain  stream,  —  all  opposition  no  more  to  it  then 
than  the  rocks  that  broke  the  torrent  into  music  and  silver. 

On  the  wet  grass  and  moist  soil  of  the  road  he  finds  Lucy's 
foot-prints :  they  lose  themselves  to  sight  in  the  woods ;  but 
the  hound  follows  them  still.  Here  she  has  descended  to  the 
bed  of  the  brook  ;  and  again  appears  a  footprint  in  the  washed 
sand.  There  are  marks  upon  a  decaying  log,  where  moss  has 
been  gathered  —  by  her  hands.  On  this  broad  ledge,  that 
slopes  from  under  the  roots  of  leaning  twin-beeches  and  dips 
into  the  shimmering  water,  she  has  surely  sat  down,  and  per 
haps  dabbled  her  bare  feet.  Ranger  snuffs  from  the  rippling 
rim  up  to  the  naked  roots  which  the  great  freshets  wash ;  then 
hurries  on.  At  length,  he  reaches  a  spot  where  he  appears 
baffled  for  a  minute;  starts  on  ;  returns,  and  starts  again, 
snuffing  to  the  water's  edge ;  then  leaps  to  the  dry  backs 
of  bowlders  between  which  the  current  gushes ;  finds  there 
the  scent ;  and  bounds  to  the  farther  bank,  followed  by  his 
master. 


A    LOVE-CHASE.  53 

The  way  grew  difficult  now,  obstructed  by  thickets,  in 
which  the  dog  disappeared.  Suddenly  were  heard  cries  of 
terror,  then  a  great  splashing ;  and  Guy  ran  forward  in  time 
to  see  Ranger  recrossing  the  brook  on  a  log,  and  a  human 
being  struggling  in  the  water.  He  rushed  in  great  trepida 
tion  down  the  bank,  but  felt  suddenly  relieved  when  he  saw 
that  it  was  not  Lucy. 

A  man  in  black  clothes  got  up  in  the  channel,  slipping  on 
the  slimy  stones  until  he  obtained  a  footing. 

"  Brother,"  he  said,  standing  knee-deep,  bareheaded,  and 
drenched  in  the  brook,  "  are  you  a  friend  to  humanity  ?  " 

His  plight  was  so  ludicrous,  and  the  question  so  comical 
under  the  circumstances,  that  Guy  could  hardly  have  helped 
laughing  had  the  man  been  in  serious  danger. 

"  If  you  are,  perform  the  charitable  act  of  catching  my  hat, 
which  is  going  down  stream." 

Guy  fished  out  the  beaver  with  some  trouble,  and  carried  it 
across  the  tree-trunk  to  the  stranger,  who  stood  by  this  time 
on  the  other  bank,  letting  himself  drip,  and  looking  melan 
choly. 

"  What  were  you  in  there  for  ?  " 

"  The  question  I  was  just  asking."  He  shook  the  water 
from  his  nose,  poked  the  wet  hair  out  of  his  eyes,  and  put  on 
his  hat.  "  No  doubt,  it  was  for  a  wise  purpose.  Perhaps  I 
needed  the  bath.  Or  —  the  meaning  of  it  comes  to  me  — 
I  ought  not  to  have  crossed  the  stream." 

' '  I  was  afraid  my  dog  had  something  to  do  with  the  ac 
cident." 


54  A    LOVE- CHASE. 

"  I  acknowledge  no  such  tiling  as  acccident.  The  dog 
was  simply  an  instrument  to  bring  about  what  was  necessary. 
I  was  crossing  on  the  log  one  way,  when  the  dog  went  to 
cross  the  other  way.  I  lost  my  faith  for  a  moment,  and  cried 
out ;  but  he  was  true  to  his  mission,  and  tumbled  me  into  the 
water."  And  the  stranger  with  perfect  gravity  proceeded  to 
wring  out  his  wet  garments. 

Guy  had  not  time  to  laugh ;  for  now  the  cry  of  the  hound 
was  heard  musical  in  the  woods. 

Under  a  wild  cherry-tree,  at  the  base 'of  a  rock,  through  a 
cleft  of  which  the  brook  poured  down,  her  elbow  on  her  knee, 
her  bonnet  on  the  ground,  her  lap  full  of  mosses,  —  seeing 
visionary  things  in  the  bubbling  and  beaded  water,  —  sat 
Lucy ;  when  Ranger  dashed  out  of  the  undergrowth,  and  came 
bounding  and  barking  towards  her.  She  did  not  move  from 
her  place ;  and  there  Guy  found  her,  a  picture  ravishing  to  a 
lover's  soul,  with  the  sunlight  on  the  boughs  above  her,  the 
cascade  tumbling  its  foam  at  her  feet,  and  the  hound  lick 
ing  her  hands, 


LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  55 


V. 
LOVE,  FISH,   AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

Y  wood-nymph,  my  Undine !  "  exclaimed  Guy. 

"Ranger  has  no  such  romantic  fancies,"  said 
Lucy,  caressing  the  dog's  sleek  brown  ears  :  "  he 
knows  it  is  only  poor  me,  —  no  cold  water-sprite,  but  oh  !  so 
human  !  How  did  you  find  me?  "  with  a  resolute  smile  con 
cealing  traces  of  sadness. 

"  Ranger  brought  me  :  there  was  never  such  a  hunt.  Did 
he  frighten  you  ?  "  And,  kicking  away  the  hound,  Guy  took 
his  place  at  her  side. 

"  He  gave  me  a  start ;  but  I  knew  you  were  near." 

"Were  you  glad  V" 

"  Guy  !  "  The  look  she  gave  him  was  enough,  — full  of 
melting  love,  and  also  full  of  suffering.  He  clasped  her  with 
impetuous  fervor. 

"My  child,  my  darling,  you  shall  suffer  no  more!  I 
swear  it! " 

She  cried  sobbingly  for  a  few  moments,  the  pent-up  an 
guish  of  her  heart  breaking  forth. 

"It  is  so  comforting  to  have  any  one  kind  to  me,  after 


56  LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

what  I  endure  at  home  !  But,  Guy,  —  don't  be  angry,  — 
this  is  the  last  time  we  shall  meet !  " 

"  Yes,  Lucy ;  for  we  shall  not  part  again  !  " 

She  nestled  close  to  him,  and  there  was  a  long  silence,  — 
only  the  brook  filling  the  woods  with  its  voices. 

"  Let  me  be  happy  in  that  thought  a  little  while." 

"  Be  happy  in  it  forever  !  " 

"  Guy,  I  saw  your  father  last  night,  if  it  was  not  a  dream  : 
I  wish  it  was  a  dream  !  What  possessed  me  to  go  that  way, 
I  can't  tell :  I  am  always  doing  such  foolish  things.  I  sup 
pose  it  was  a  desire  to  see  the  old  place  for  the  last  time." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Guy.  "  Don't  you  care  :  it  is 
all  for  the  best.  It  has  decided  me.  The  whole  world 
seemed  so  wild  and  joyous  as  I  was  coming  up  here,  it  re 
proached  me  for  my  mean  concessions.  Lucy,  we  will  be  as 
free  as  the  birds  and  brooks !  " 

She  started  from  him,  fearing  his  dangerous  arguments, 
and  knowing  his  power. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  now :  I  am  too  weak.  I  have  eaten 
nothing  since  yesterday  !  " 

"  What,  Lucy  !  you  have  had  no  breakfast?  " 

"  I  was  too  miserable  to  think  of  it.  I  heard  California 
news  had  arrived ;  and  I  went  to  Mr.  Pelt's  office,  in  hopes 
to  get  a  letter  from  father.  It  is  strange  he  doesn't  write  :  but 
I  know  he  has  written,  if  he  is  alive ;  and  sometimes  I  am 
wicked  enough  to  suspect  Mr.  Pelt  of  keeping  back  the 
letters." 


LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  57 

"If  he  had  any  motive  for  keeping  them  back,  he  would 
do  it ! "  exclaimed  Guy.  "  A  man  that  was  first  your  father's 
lawyer  against  my  father,  and  is  now  my  father's  lawyer 
too"  — 

"  He  has  eyes  that  can  see  two  opposite  interests  at  the 
same  time,"  said  Lucy;  "but  he  couldn't  be  so  cruel  as  to 
keep  back  my  letters,  I  know." 

' '  You  have  never  received  any  money  from  your  father 
yet?" 

"No;  and  that's  one  thing  my  aunt  torments  me  about. 
She  does  every  thing  she  can  to  make  me  feel  dependent  on 
her  charity.  I  so  dreaded  to  go  home  and  tell  her  no  money 
had  come,  and  I  felt  so  wretched  and  lonesome,  that  I  wan 
dered  off  up  here." 

* '  I  was  in  that  viper's  nest  this  morning.  How  did  you 
ever  live  there,  my  poor  dove?  "  And  Guy  related  his  ad 
venture;  at  which  Lucy  could  not  help  laughing. 

"Didn't  she  want  to  pray  with  you?  It's  a  wonder! 
Usually,  when  she  quarrels  with  folks,  she  goes  and  prays 
with  them,  and  tells  God,  in  their  presence,  what  awful  sin 
ners  they  are.  She  is  waiting  for  a  chance  now  to  hold  me 
up  in  that  way." 

"  If,  like  Luther,  she  can  pray  best  when  she  is  angry,  she 
would  have  been  fervent  over  me!"  said  Guy.  "Howl 
hate  to  come  in  contact  with  such  people  !  But  forget  them, 
to-day  at  least.  You  must  be  hungry :  let  me  provide  you  a 
luncheon,  —  show  you  how  we  will  do  when  we  live  in  that 


58  LOVE,    FISH,    AND     PHILOSOPHY. 

little  cottage,  and  are  very  poor  in  every  thing  but  happi 
ness." 

This  allusion  to  what  might  be,  if  she  would  permit  him  to 
sacrifice  his  future  for  her  sake,  gave  her  less  pleasure  than 
pain,  as  when  we  have  glimpses  of  a  heaven  we  cannot  enter. 

She  sat  pondering  what  he  had  said,  and  nursing  her  reso 
lution  in  her  bosom, — too  tender  for  a  thing  so  harsh, — 
while  love  was  pleading  to  be  folded  there  alone.  Guy  left 
her,  to  cut  from  a  clump  of  young  maples  a  slender  and  flex 
ible  rod.  He  trimmed  off  the  twigs,  and  proceeded  to  attach 
to  it  a  line  which  he  unrolled  from  his  pocket ;  then  opened  a 
paper  of  many-colored  artificial  insects,  from  which  he  selected 
one  for  his  purpose. 

"Here  is  something,"  he  said,  "that  will  look  more  like 
a  fly  in  the  water  than  a  fly  itself.  Are  you  fond  of  trout  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  don't  really  think  I  could  manage  to  eat  one 
raw." 

"  We'll  catch  one  first,  then  see  about  the  eating." 

He  stood  where  the  stream  fell  into  a  bright  basin  of  rock 
and  gravel.  Here  he  flung  his  fly,  skipped  it  in  the  foam, 
trailed  it  over  the  eddies,  let  it  toss  and  swim  on  the  ripples, 
drew  it  up,  and  let  it  fall  again  as  lightly  and  naturally  as  pos 
sible  on  the  shimmering  surface ;  then  sent  it  like  a  drowned 
insect  down  the  falls  :  but  to  no  purpose. 

"  My  breakfast  seems  very  shy,"  said  Lucy.  "  Who 
comes  there?  " 

"  It  is  my  drenched  philosopher  !  "  Guy  answered,  looking 
up  from  his  fishing. 


LOVE,    FISH.    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  59 

The  stranger  came  forward  slowly  into  the  small  opening 
by  the  stream,  carrying  a  forked  twig  before  him  above  his 
head.  His  water-streaked  hat  was  thrown  back  like  a  top 
pling  ruin,  his  mouth  was  open,  and  his  nose-— a  monstrous 
one  —  was  borne  high  in  air  ;  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  too 
intently  on  the  twig  to  observe  that  he  was  observed.  He 
walked  straight  up  to  Guy,  as  if  it  had  been  his  intention  to 
march  over  him. 

"  I  seem  to  stand  in  your  way,"  said  Guy. 

The  man  halted,  lowering  the  twig,  and,  with  no  more  ex 
pression  in  his  features  than  if  they  had  been  made  of  putty 
(which  they  somewhat  resembled) ,  stood  looking  at  him  like 
a  wet  automaton. 

"That  fact  has  a  significance,  brother!  You  have  some 
thing  to  do  with  my  mission.  What  are  you  doing  with  a  rod 
and  line  here  ?  "  asked  the  philosopher,  without  a  trace  of  re 
sentment  in  his  stolid  features.  "  That,  too,  is  significant ! 
The  disciples  of  old  were  fishermen  :  greater  things  than  they 
saw  you  shall  see  !  " 

"  They  probably  never  saw  so  great  a  nose  as  I  see," 
Guy  whispered  to  Lucy. 

"The  nose,"  said  the  stranger,  whose  sense  of  hearing 
seemed  miraculous,  —  and  he  coolly  hooked  the  forked  twig 
into  a  button-hole  of  his  coat,  —  "  is  a  feature  of  great  mean 
ing  :  it  is  the  magnet  of  destiny.  When  you  rise  above  the 
plane  of  inirthfulness,  you  will  be  taught  these  truths." 

"Excuse  my  levity,"  said  Guy;  and  he  gravely  took  a 


60  LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

handkerchief  from  his  pocket.  "  There  is  a  mosquito  on  your 
magnet  of  destiny." 

"  Stop  !  "  The  stranger  stayed  his  hand,  and  regarded 
him  with  solemn,  fishy  eyes.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  As  a  friend  of  humanity,  I  am  going  to  kill  it." 

"  Brother  !  "  —  with  an  awful  emphasis,  —  "  what  right 
have  you  to  kill  a  mosquito  ?  Persons  on  the  plane  of  self 
ishness  may  begrudge  the  little  drop  of  blood  which  makes 
an  insect  happy :  I  do  not." 

"  He  can  afford  to  be  so  magnanimous,"  whispered  Guy  ; 
"  for  no  mosquito  can  extract  any  thing  moist  from  the  dry  mor 
tar  his  magnet  of  destiny  is  composed  of.  That  one  plucks 
up  its  baffled  proboscis,  and  flies  away  empty."  And,  having 
changed  his  fly  for  one  of  a  different  color,  he  returned  to  his 
fishing. 

Lucy  was  laughing ;  when  the  stranger  said  to  her,  grimly, 
that  she  ought  rather  to  weep  at  seeing  a  brother  engaged  in 
such  inhuman  sport. 

"  He  who  called  the  fishermen  you  alluded  to,"  said  Guy, 
"rather  sanctioned  their  occupation  on  one  or  two  occa 
sions  ;  "  and  he  played  his  fly. 

"  He  who  called  the  fishermen  was  a  progressive  man  for 
his  age  ;  but  a  higher  development  is  possible  now." 

The  astounding  coolness  with  which  the  stranger  uttered 
this  sentiment  gave  Lucy  an  unpleasant  shiver,  and  she 
turned  from  him  shocked  and  disgusted.  As  for  Guy,  he  was 
at  that  moment  occupied  in  landing  a  fine  trout. 


LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  61 

"  Can  you  witness  the  agonies  of  that  fish,  without  emo 
tion?  "  sternly  said  the  man,  without,  however,  exhibiting  any 
particular  evidence  of  emotion  in  his  own  coarse  features. 

* '  The  emotion  I  experience  is  a  very  pleasing  excitement, 
only  known,  I  think,  to  the  trout-fisher;  "  and  Guy  unhooked 
his  prize.  "  What  you  consider  its  agonies,  are,  no  doubt, 
ecstasies  of  pleasure,  occasioned  by  the  oxygen  in  an  atmos 
phere  which  acts  upon  it  like  laughing-gas.  Besides,  you 
must  understand  that  it  is  out  of  pure  benevolence  to  the  fish 
that  I  catch  the  big  ones,  which  have  the  cruel  habit  of  eating 
the  little  ones." 

The  putty  features  softened  a  little.  "What  do  you  do 
with  those  you  catch  ?  " 

"  The  destiny  of  this  one  is  to  be  cooked  and  eaten  on  the 
spot." 

"  Retribution  truly !  "  and  the  man  stood  a  long  time  con 
templating  the  beautifully  tinted  prize  with  the  unmistakable 
interest  of  appetite. 

Guy  gathered  dry  sticks,  and  broke  them  :  then,  kindling  a 
fire  on  the  ground,  he  left  Lucy  to  feed  it  with  fagots,  and 
went  to  the  brookside  with  the  trout,  which  he  presently 
brought  to  her  ready  for  cooking. 

"  Wait  till  there  is- a  fine  bed  of  coals,"  he  said,  spitting  it 
with  a  split  stick  ;  "  then  lay  it  on  them.  Maybe  I  can  catch 
another  in  the  mean  time." 

The  new  fly  was  successful :  the  moment  it  touched  the 
water,  a  trout  leaped,  but  did  not  strike  the  hook. 


62  LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

"  Ah  !  you  lost  him  !  "  said  the  stranger,  eagerly  watching 
the  sport. 

Guy  laughed  at  the  regretful  tone  with  which  the  hungry 
philosopher  uttered  these  words.  Again  the  fly  fell,  and 
whirled  in  the  eddies,  —  a  silver  flash,  and  it  disappeared, 
the  twine  running  away  in  the  water  after  it. 

1  'You've  got  one:  why  don't  you  pull  him  out?"  cried 
the  philosopher  anxiously. 

But  Guy,  having  with  a  quick  movement  hooked  the  trout 
the  instant  it  snatched  the  fly,  drew  gently  and  steadily  upon 
the  yielding  rod ;  till,  seeing  the  fish  was  not  too  heavy  for 
his  tackle,  he  lifted  it  adroitly  from  the  water. 

"  Ah  !  you've  saved  him  !  "  said  the  spectator  with  a  long 
breath. 

The  first  fish  was  by  this  time  on  the  coals ;  and  the  odor 
of  the  cooking,  wafted  to  his  nostrils,  invited  him  to  the  fire, 
•which  he  approached,  watching  Lucy's  work  with  longing 
looks. 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  primitive  method  of  preparing  food," 
he  observed,  as  Guy  brought  the  second  trout  to  be  roasted ; 
"  and  I  am  impressed  "  — snuff,  snuff —  "  that  you  will  in 
vite  me  to  breakfast." 

"  What !  a  breakfast  of  fish?  "  cried  Guy. 

"Though  it  is  sinful  to  catch  them,"  said  Lucy,  radiant 
over  the  fire,  "  he  doesn't  consider  them  so  objectionable 
when  cooked ! " 

"When  I  arrived  this  morning"  (the  stranger,  unmoved, 


LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  63 

kept  his  eyes  on  the  fish  with  a  very  steady  regard),  "  I  was 
going  to  a  hotel  for  breakfast ;  but  the  spirit  said,  '  Breakfast 
will  be  provided.'  I  now  understand  that  I  am  directed  to 
partake  of  trout." 

"  Your  philosophy  is  so  accommodating,  perhaps  it  will 
allow  you  to  catch  your  own  fish.  Here's  the  rod." 

The  stranger  looked  at  Gruy,  then  took  up  the  tackle  :  he 
examined  the  fine  hook  on  which  the  fly  was  fashioned,  and 
admitted  the  benevolence  of  the  invention  which  substituted 
for  a  living  insect  a  dead  semblance,  but  questioned  the  mo 
rality  of  thus  deceiving  the  fish.  A  fragrant  breath  of  incense 
from  the  roasting,  however,  dissipated  his  remaining  scruples. 
"  I  am  impressed,"  said  he,  "  to  catch  a  trout; "  and,  add 
ing  something  about  the  experience  being  necessary  to  him, 
he  went  to  the  brook.  At  the  first  fling  of  the  line,  he  caught 
the  fly  in  his  coat-sleeve;  then  he  threw  it  into  a  tree,  where 
it  became  entangled.  With  much  trouble  he  got  it  again, 
and,  after  several  laughably  awkward  attempts,  succeeded  in 
casting  the  fly  upon  a  rock  in  mid-channel. 

The  lovers,  glad  to  be  alone,  sat  down  on  the  ground  to 
breakfast.  The  fish  were  placed  before  them  on  maple 
leaves,  which  served  in  lieu  of  plates.  They  had  no  sea 
soning  of  any  kind.  Fingers  were  used  in  the  absence  of 
forks ;  Guy  picking  out  the  bones  for  Lucy,  who,  charmed  by 
the  novelty  of  the  repast,  and  assisted  by  a  good  appetite, 
found  the  rich  roasted  flesh  of  the  trout  delicious. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  roared  the  philosopher :  "  I've  got  him  !  "  and 


64  LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

to  the  surprise  of  Guy,  who  had  loaned  him  the  rod  to  get  rid 
of  him,  he  pointed  to  a  wriggling  fish,  which,  by  a  violent 
jerk,  he  had  flung  high  into  a  beach  bough.  The  time  re 
quired  for  him  again  to  disentangle  the  line  was  so  much 
gain  to  the  lovers.  At  last,  he  came  with  his  trout  dressed  for 
the  coals  :  but  it  was  a  small  fish  for  a  large  appetite ;  and, 
by  Guy's  advice,  he  went  to  catch  another.  In  a  little  while, 
his  "  Ho,  ho  !  "  was  heard  again. 

"The  rascal  has  got  another,"  said  Guy.  "Isn't  it  a 
good  joke  to  see  a  philosopher,  who  scrupled  just  now  to  kill 
a  mosquito,  open  his  jack-knife,  and  disembowel  a  live  trout 
in  that  cool,  scientific  manner?  —  The  fire  is  down,  sir:  I'll 
put  on  some  sticks,  if  you  want  to  be  catching  another.  — 
Any  way  to  keep  him  at  a  distance  !  " 

"I  find  the  exercise  necessary  after  my  bath,"  observed 
the  philosopher ;  who  might  have  added,  that  he  found  the 
sport  fascinating. 

He  soon  brought  his  third  fish,  and  commenced  the  process 
of  cooking.  Two  were  soon  done,  and  placed  upon  leaves ; 
and,  with  a  countenance  full  of  hungry  anticipation,  he  gave 
his  attention  to  the  remaining  trout.  When  it  was  done,  he 
took  it  up,  and  turned  to  place  it  with  the  others :  but  the 
leaves  were  empty ;  the  fish  were  gone.  How  could  they 
have  disappeared  ?  Neither  Guy  nor  Lucy  had  moved  from 
their  places,  as  the  philosopher  himself  could  testify ;  and  he 
had  been  careful  to  put  his  breakfast  out  of  their  reach. 
They  looked  to  see  him  puzzled  and  chagrined;  but  he 
smiled. 


LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  65 

"  The  ignorant  wonder, " — he  gave  them  a  mystical  squint ; 
"  but  these  things  are  not  strange  :  invisible  guests  are  with 
me  !  "  and  he  struck  a  solemn  attitude. 

His  imperturbable  manner,  and  the  ready  simplicity  with 
which  he  accepted  the  miracle  of  the  disappearance  of  his 
breakfast,  hungry  as  he  was,  astonished  the  spectators,  who 
suppressed  their  mirth  to  see  what  he  would  do  next. 

"  Swedenborg,"  said  he,  "  is  it  you?"  He  brought  his 
right  arm  against  his  breast  with  a  loud  thwack.  "  Yes,  that 
is  Swedenborg  !  Is  Socrates  with  you  ?  "  He  struck  his 
breast  with  his  left  hand.  "That  is  Socrates!  My  two 
guardian  spirits !  " 

"  A  fish  apiece,"  said  Lucy ;  "  but  your  guests  must  have 
forgotten  their  manners,  or  they  wouldn't  have  begun  on  the 
breakfast  till  you  were  ready." 

The  philosopher  made  no  answer  to  this,  but  appeared  to 
be  conversing  in  whispers  with  the  distinguished  guests,  who 
kept  his  two  fists  wagging  in  a  rather  vivacious  manner. 
The  conference  ended,  he  smiled  with  satisfaction,  and  looked 
for  his  share  of  the  breakfast.  During  his  discourse  with 
Messrs.  Swedenborg  and  Socrates,  the  third  fish  had  also 
vanished.  Lucy  could  no  longer  restrain  her  merriment,  but 
pointed,  with  tears  flashing  in  her  eyes,  at  Ranger,  who  stood 
a  little  way  off,  innocently  licking  his  chaps. 

"  I  have  watched  your  three  fish,"  said  Guy,  "  going  mi 
raculously  down  that  dog's  throat.     I  didn't  prevent  the  pro 
cess,  thinking  it  might  have  some  mystical  meaning." 
5 


66  LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

"  It  has  so  !  Even  this  :  when  I  prepare  spiritual  food  for 
the  soul  of  man,  dogs  snatch  at  it !  —  and  lick  their  chaps  !  " 
added  the  stranger,  with  a  stern  look  at  the  laughers. 

"  If  you  would  cure  us  of  our  incredulity,"  said  Guy, 
"  you  ought  to  explain  to  us  these  mysteries.  I  think  I  un 
derstand  about  the  fishes ;  but  what  is  the  meaning  of  that 
forked  switch  ?" 

"  This  wand,"  —  the  philosopher  unhooked  it  from  his  but 
ton-hole,  and  instantly  dog  and  breakfast,  and  the  derision  of 
the  sceptics,  appeared  to  be  forgotten,  —  "  this  wand  I  cut  by 
the  direction  of  the  spirits,  who  have  revealed  to  me  that 
there  is  a  great  treasure  concealed  somewhere  in  this  region. 
I  have  been  led  up  this  stream  ;  and,  as  near  as  I  can  judge, 
the  treasure  lies  somewhere  in  that  direction,"  —  pointing  to 
a  crag  of  the  eastern  mountain  visible  through  the  opening  of 
the  trees. 

"  You  indicate  pretty  exactly,"  said  Guy,  "  the  spot  where 
the  money-diggers  have  been  at  work." 

The  stranger  expressed  profound  surprise,  asserting  that  he 
had  never  heard  of  the  hidden  treasure  except  through  his  in 
visible  guardians,  and  desiring  information  respecting  it. 

"  If  you  will  follow  the  mountain-road,"  said  Guy,  "  you 
will  come  to  a  large,  desolate-looking,  wood-colored  house, 
where  lives  a  little  old  doctor,  who  has  lost  his  practice,  his 
property,  the  best  years  of  his  life,  and  his  wits  to  boot,  hunt 
ing  for  those  fabulous  coffers.  If  you  believe  in  them,  he 
will  believe  in  you,  and  be  infinitely  delighted  to  see  you." 


LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  67 

The  philosopher  did  not  stop  to  appease  his  hunger  by 
catching  more  trout,  but  hurried  off  at  once  to  find  the  little 
old  doctor. 

Guy  and  Lucy  sat  by  the  stream,  and  talked.  They  had 
countless  things  to  say  to  each  other ;  questions  of  happiness 
and  duty  to  decide.  Both  were  tired  of  acting  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe,  —  stealing  glimpses  of  each  other  through  a  wall 
which  the  quarrels  of  their  parents  had  reared  between  them, 
and  which  her  relatives  had  driven  full  of  the  spikes  of  spite 
and  jealousy.  Guy,  fiery  and  impatient,  was  for  snatching 
Lucy  at  once  from  the  Pinworth  purgatory,  and  marrying  her 
in  open  defiance  of  his  father's  threats  of  disinheritance ; 
a  generous  resolution,  and  perhaps  the  wisest.  But  Lucy 
said  no. 

"I  remember  how  Colonel  Bannington  looked  at  me, — 
such  hatred !  He  shall  never  think  of  me  as  his  daughter. 
Besides,"  she  added  quickly,  as  Guy  was  about  to  urge  his 
vehement  objection,  "I  know  you  better  than  you  know 
yourself.  You  have  no  profession ;  you  don't  know  any  thing 
about  getting  a  living ;  and  you  might  regret,  —  in  the  strug 
gles,  the  annoyances,  which  would  come,  —  I  know  you  would 
some  time  regret,  the  sacrifice.  You  are  used  to  a  life  of  ease 
and  pleasure.  And  do  you  know,  Guy,  you  are  irritable,  im 
pulsive,  and  too  sensitive  and  headstrong  to  endure  privation 
and  care  ?  " 

"  I  need  the  discipline,"  said  Guy.  "  I  am  ashamed  of 
what  I  have  been.  You  have  cured  me  of  the  wildness 


68  LOVE,    FISH,    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

which  has  given  me,  I  believe,  a  worse  reputation  than  I 
deserve.  But,  if  I  lose  you  now,  what  will  become  of  me  ? 
I  tremble  to  think  of  it !  " 

"  You  will  not  lose  me.  We  will  simply  separate  for  a 
time.  I  will  go  away,  and  get  my  living  somewhere ;  and  we 
will  wait,  and  be  patient." 

"  Lucy,  I  can't !  Talk  of  waiting  and  patience,  when  it 
is  heaven  with  you,  and  perdition  away  from  you  !  Oh,  this 
hand!" — he  covered  it  with  kisses:  "  I  will  never  let  it 
go,  — never  !  " 

Thrilled  as  she  was  by  his  passion  and  his  rapture,  still 
something  in  Lucy's  soul  would  not  suffer  her  to  consent  to 
his  wishes.  She  felt  equal  to  any  sacrifice  for  his  sake  ;  but 
she  could  not  permit  him  to  make  sacrifices  for  her. 

She  told  him  this ;  and  with  her  words  there  entered  into 
his  heart  a  great  temptation.  No  way  seemed  so  easy  and 
pleasant  to  decide  the  question  of  their  happiness  as  by  one 
of  those  compromises  of  the  absolute  right  which  sometimes 
ruin  both  happiness  and  character.  Could  he  not  enjoy  the 
blessedness  of  her  love,  and  yet  not  forfeit  his  father's  good 
will?  She  heard  him  in  silence.  She  did  not  attempt  to 
reason  against  his  proposal,  but  only  begged  time  for  consider 
ation  ;  dreading  her  own  weakness  and  his  passionate  persua 
sion,  and  knowing  well  that  safety  lay,  not  in  argument,  but 
in  flight. 


THE    LOVES    OF    PELT   AND    ROANE.  69 


VI. 

THE  LOVES   OF  ELPHAZ  PELT  AND 
ABNER  ROANE. 

N  the  law-office  of  Squire  Elphaz  Pelt  sits  the 
young  man  Abner,  leaning  on  his  elbows,  and 
running  his  freckled  fingers  through  his  red  hair, 
as  if  to  warm  them. 

There  are  letters  on  the  desk  before  him,  which  have  come 
by  the  afternoon's  mail ;  in  one  of  which  —  a  heavy  package 
covered  with  stamps,  and  looking  as  if  it  contained  gold-dust 
—  he  manifests  a  grinning  interest. 

"  That's  from  Californy,  sure  !  Ben  Arlyn's  writing,  I 
bet !  I  wish  "  —  He  glances  at  the  door,  and  listens  ;  then 
turns  the  letter  over,  shakes  it  at  his  ear,  and  tries  to  peep. 
"  If  I  was  only  one  of  them  mediums  that  can  see  into  letters 
without  opening  'em  !  Hang  so  many  wafers  !  " 

He  pushes  the  package  aside,  so  as  not  to  be  tempted  by  it ; 
and,  to  divert  his  mind,  takes  up  a  thin  straw-colored  envelope, 
bearing  the  imprint  of  a  well-known  express-company. 

Here  is  something,  now,  that  might  possibly  be  penetrated 
by  an  ingenious  young  man  like  Abner  Koane.  That  little 


70  THE    LOVES    OF    ELPHAZ   PELT 

streak  of  gluten  doesn't  stick  like  the  absurd  wafers  that 
defend  the  Californian  document.  Just  the  moist  edge  of  a 
paper-folder  pressed  in  there  carefully,  and  — 

"  Bless  my  soul ! "  says  Abner  ;  and  with  a  start,  as  if  his 
fingers  were  agued,  he  thrusts  them  back  into  his  warm  top 
knot. 

The  envelope  has  actually  shown  a  tendency  to  come  open. 
Its  lips,  curling  a  little  with  the  strain  he  has  given  it, 
grins  at  him.  Abner  grins  at  it.  Nobody  is  coming.  He 
takes  up  the  letter  again,  just  touches  the  adhesive  part,  and 
lo!  — 

"What  a  way  to  seal  a  letter  that  was!"  says  Abner 
nervously  ;  and  he  listens  with  a  wild  expression,  holding  his 
tongue  out,  and  the  gluten  ready  to  be  licked  and  stuck  again 
in  case  of  footsteps. 

"  I  may  as  well  just  take  a  peep  !  "  he  concludes.  But 
how  the  freckled  fingers  shake !  and  how  pale  the  sandy 
visage  suddenly  grows,  forgetting  for  the  moment  to  grin ! 
The  letter  is  hurriedly  read,  and  restored  to  the  envelope ;  and 
Abner  sits  trembling  with  the  excitement  of  what  he  has  done, 
and  with  fear  lest  Elphaz  may  come  in  before  the  freshly  licked 
gluten  is  dry. 

One  would  imagine  it  none  of  Abncr's  business  that  the 
express-company  writes  to  say  that  a  large  sum  of  money  has 
been  forwarded  from  California  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Arlyn, 
consigned  to  his  agent,  Mr.  Elphaz  Pelt. 

"  Seven  thousand  dollars!  "  murmurs  Abner.     An  inde- 


AND    ABNER    ROANE.  71 

pendent  fortune,  in  his  eyes.  It  will,  of  course,  be  Lucy's ; 
with  whom  he  would  have  fallen  in  love  long  ago,  could  he 
have  seen  that  such  a  step  was  for  his  interest.  But  who 
would  ever  have  supposed  that  old  Ben  Arlyn,  ruined  by  his 
lawsuits  with  Colonel  Bannington,  and  flying  in  disgrace  after 
his  last  fatal  collision  with  that  ireful  man,  would  in  two  years 
turn  up  a  millionnaire  ?  From  a  plodding  law-student,  Abner 
is  suddenly  transformed  into  the  most  agitated  of  lovers.  To 
offer  himself,  and  get  accepted,  before  Lucy  learns  that  she  is 
an  heiress,  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  He  takes  a  pen,  and 
commences  a  letter,  which  he  dates  yesterday,  —  the  sagacious 
Abner !  Then  in  prolix  and  verbose  diction,  as  if  he  were 
drawing  up  a  legal  document,  he  declares  his  passion.  The 
letter  is  scarcely  sealed  and  pocketed,  when  Elphaz  enters. 
Abner's  red  head  is  suddenly  plunged  into  a  law-book,  which 
fascinates  him  like  a  romance. 

"Go  to  the  post-office?"  inquires  Elphaz,  his  face  all 
gristle  and  no  smiles,  which  he  can't  afford  to  lavish  on  his 
apprentice. 

Abner  jumps.  "  Oh,  yes  !  "  He  gives  the  letters  with 
servile  alacrity,  and  returns  to  his  romance. 

Elphaz  glances  at  the  letters  with  one  eye,  while  he  seems 
to  be  suspiciously  watching  the  absorbed  youth  with  the  other ; 
breaks  a  seal  or  two  ;  and  laughs  a  hard,  metallic  laugh. 

"Ha,  ha!  got  a  letter  from  —  thought  he  was  dead — 
didn't  we  hear  Joe  Prince  was  'dead,  Abner?  " 

"  He  died  in  San  Francisco  last  winter,  didn't  he?  " 


72  THE    LOVES    OF    ELPHAZ    PELT 

"  I  thought  so.  But  here's  a  big  letter  from  him.  Can't 
stop  to  read  it  now.  I  was  in  hopes  'twas  from  Arlyn  : 
strange  we  don't  hear  from  him  !  Keep  shop,  Abner,  till  I 
come  back."  And  Elphaz,  full  of  business,  departs  with  the 
letters. 

The  red  head  emerges  from  the  law-book,  and  is  scratched 
assiduously  for  a  wondering  minute  or  two.  "Joe  Prince? 
Well,  maybe  'tis;  but  I  don't  believe  it."  Honest  Abner 
grows  suspicious  of  his  senior's  integrity.  "  He  won't  dare 
to  steal  that  seven  thousand  dollars,  though  !  Any  way,  I'll 
give  Lucy  my  letter,  and  resk  it." 

Impatient  to  leave  the  office  for  that  purpose,  he  sits  wait 
ing  for  Pelt's  return.  At  length,  somebody  comes.  Luck 
favors  him.  Instead  of  the  lawyer,  it  is  Lucy  herself. 

Pale  and  anxious,  she  inquires  for  Elphaz,  and  sinks  upon 
a  seat. 

"  You  have  no  letters  for  me  yet  ?  " 

Bed-head  struggles  with  embarrassment,  simpering  sweetly. 

"  There  is  a  letter  for  you,  Miss  Arlyn." 

"  0  Abner  !  "  cries  Lucy  eagerly,  hope  and  joy  flashing 
up  in  her  weary  face ;  and,  with  both  hands  extended,  she 
starts  forward. 

Abner  draws  his  declaration  from  his  pocket,  like  a  dagger, 
and  stabs  her  to  the  heart. 

"  You  can  write  your  answer  if  you'd  rather,"  he  simpers; 
hastily  pushes  some  paper  towards  her  on  the  table ;  then  goes 
and  looks  out  of  the  window,  rubbing  his  hands  excitedly, 
while  she  is  considering  the  delicate  subject. 


AND    ABNER    ROANE.  73 

Having  waited  a  proper  length  of  time,  he  peeps  over  his 
shoulder  to  see  what  the  prospects  are.  There  she  sits,  not 
yet  recovered  from  her  cruel  disappointment ;  regarding  the 
letter  with  a  countenance  in  which  he  sees  written  disgust, 
heart-sickness,  and  his  own  unhappy  fate. 

"  May  I  hope  for  a  favorable  response?"  is  the  elegant 
speech  he  has  been  studying  up ;  but  it  sticks  in  his  throat 
as  he  crawls  obsequiously  towards  her. 

She  throws  the  letter  on  the  table  with  a  contempt  she  can 
not  conceal,  but  forbears  to  speak,  feeling  that  the  addresses 
of  the  most  loathed  suitor  should  not  be  met  with  scorn. 

"My  prospects  are  good,"  whines  Abner.  "You'll  be 
able  to  live  a  lady  :  you  never'll  need  to  sile  this  delicate 
white  hand,"  —  which  he  attempts  to  squeeze. 

"  Abner  Roane  !  "  cries  Lucy,  "  burn  that  foolish  letter!  " 
And  she  snatches  back  the  unsqueezed  hand. 

"  No  hopes  ?  "  murmured  the  wretch. 

"  Not  a  hope  !  "  says  Lucy. 

"  0  Miss  Arlyn  !  "  —  he  is  getting  down  on  his  knees  : 
but  fortunately  there  are  footsteps  on  the  stairs  ;  and  he  has 
barely  time  to  crumple  the  rejected  addresses  into  his  pocket, 
and  get  seated,  when  Elphaz  enters. 

"Ah,  Miss  Lucy  again!"  cries  the  affable  lawyer. 
"  Sorry  I  can't  do  any  thing  for  you  yet.  But  don't  be  dis 
couraged.  California  letters  don't  always  get  along  as  soon 
as  they  should." 

"And  you  have  no  news  whatever  from  my  father?" 


74  THE    LOVES    OF    ELPHAZ   PELT 

Lucy  asks  in  a  low  voice,  but  with  a  certain  distinctness,  and 
a  steady,  inquiring  look. 

The  twinkling  grayish  eyes  glance  sharply  at  Abner,  then 
appear  to  consult  each  other  across  the  nasal  bridge. 

"Nothing  yet,  Miss  Lucy.  But  there's  time  enough. 
Perhaps  to-morrow.  —  Abner!"  —  Bed-head  looks  up  from 
his  law-book,  —  "I  want  you  to  carry  a  copy  of  that  deed  over 
to  the  colonel  right  away." 

Abner  puts  on  his  extinguisher,  and  goes. 

"Sit  still,  Miss  Luay," — the  gristly  face  shining  with 
suavity.  "  You  look  tired.  Any  thing  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

Yes ;  she  wishes  to  have  a  few  words  with  him  :  and  Elphaz, 
listening  with  polite  attention  opposite  her,  and  Abner  with 
unpolite  curiosity  at  the  key-hole,  hear  how,  sick  of  her  pres 
ent  mode  of  life,  she  has  resolved  to  go  to  a  noted  manufac 
turing  town,  and  find  employment  in  the  cotton-mills.  What 
she  desires  of  Elphaz  is  to  forward  letters  to  her  if  any  are 
received  from  her  father. 

"  But  you  must  never  think  of  taking  any  such  step,  my 
dear  young  lady !  ' '  remonstrates  the  lawyer,  leaning  affec 
tionately  towards  her. 

Lucy  shakes  her  sorrowful  head.  "  'Tis  impossible  forme 
to  live  where  I  do  any  longer ;  and,  if  I  am  to  go  out  to  work, 
I  prefer  to  be  among  strangers." 

"  My  dearest  young  lady  !  "  expostulates  Elphaz  with  in 
creasing  afFectionateness  of  manner,  "you  need  never  leave 
this  town ;  you  need  never  soil  those  beautiful  hands  with 
vulgar  toil !  " 


AND    ABNER    EOANE.  75 

Abner,  sweating  at  the  key-hole,  thinks  Elphaz  must  have 
listened  before,  and  stolen  some  of  his  thunder.  Pelt  pro 
ceeds  :  — 

"  I  have  a  hand,  a  fortune,  and  a  "  — he  seems  to  hesi 
tate  about  making  the  unimportant  addition  — "  a  heart, 
dearest  Lucy,  which  I  humbly  offer  you !  ' ' 

Abner  groans  dreadfully  in  spirit ;  for,  when  Pelt  wooes, 
what  chance  is  there  for  Roane  ? 

But  what  does  he  hear  ?  She  rejects  even  the  great  law 
yer  !  She  declines  to  become  Mrs.  Elphaz  !  What  balm  to 
Abner's  wounds  !  He  has  heard  enough.  He  slips  away. 
Chuckle,  red-head  !  and  run  also;  for  danger  cometh. 

Pelt,  hearing  a  noise,  opens  the  door,  and  glances  down 
the  stairs  in  time  to  see  a  vanishing  trousers-leg ;  insufficient 
evidence,  however,  to  convict  of  eaves-dropping.  Closing  the 
door  again,  he  locks  it, 

"  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Pelt!  "  commands  Lucy. 

"  My  dearest  young  lady  !  "  says  Elphaz,  who  has  great 
confidence  in  his  power  to  plead  a  cause,  only  give  him  a 
chance,  "  don't  be  alarmed,  but  hear  me  !  " 

And  with  one  hand  under  his  coat-tail,  gesticulating  with 
the  other,  and  bending  persuasively  forward,  he  proceeds  with 
a  speech,  as  if  he  were  addressing  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and 
looking  at  several  of  them  at  once.  He  makes  an  elaborate 
statement  of  the  advantages  she  will  reap  by  marrying  him, 
and  having  servants  to  bring  her  water  to  wash  her  hands ; 
and  of  the  folly  she  will  commit,  and  misery  she  will  incur, 


76  THE    LOVES    OF    ELPHAZ    PELT 

i 

by  persisting  in  her  refusal.  Irresistible  logic ;  but  Lucy  is 
a  woman,  and  logic  never  convinced  a  woman  yet. 

"  You  have  forcod  me  to  listen  to  you,"  she  replies,  as  the 
advocate  folds  his  gesticulating  hand  with  its  fellow  under  his 
coat-tails,  and  smilingly  waits  for  a  triumphant  verdict  in  his 
favor.  "  My  answer  is  the  same  as  before.  Now  let  me  go ; 
for  I  am  tired  and  sick  !  " 

The  legal  countenance  changes,  and  grows  grim  with  the 
thought  of  starving  the  jury  into  rendering  a  different  verdict. 
But  he  thinks  better  of  it,  and  concludes  to  give  a  specimen 
of  the  indulgent  husband  Nature  designed  him  to  be  ;  offers 
to  advance  her  money,  which  she  refuses ;  and  finally,  with 
theatrical  fondness  of  manner,  opens  the  door  to  her. 

Almost  weeping  with  vexation  at  these  insults,  Lucy  hur 
ries  away.  Thank  Heaven,  she  has  heard  the  last  of  them. 
But  no :  there  stands  Abner  on  the  bridge ;  who,  as  she 
approaches,  removes  his  extinguisher,  and  relumes  himself 
redly  in  the  sun. 

"  Don't  stop  me  !  "  she  entreats.  "  I  am  so  sick  of  it  all, 
Abner!" 

But  Abner  has  a  grand  diplomatic  stroke  to  try ;  having 
resolved  to  sell  Pelt  for  a  villain,  and  himself  for  a  traitor,  if 
any  bid  will  be  made. 

"Miss  Arlyn,"  —  painfully  plaiting  up  his  face,  —  "I 
know  something  that  will  be  greatly  to  your  advantage  to 
hear"  — 

"I  have  already  heard  too  many  things  greatly  to  my 
advantage  !  "  observes  Lucy. 


AND    ABNER    ROANE.  77 

"  But  this  is  positive, —  an  immense  advantage,  pecuniarily 
speaking.  But  I  cant't  afford  to  let  you  into  the  secret  with 
out  some  consideration  in  my  favor  :  that  is,"  says  Abner,  "  if 
you'll  reverse  your  decision,  and  become  "  — with  an  embar 
rassed  giggle —  "  Mrs.  Koane,  I  can  put  a  fortune  into  your 
hands." 

"  And  into  yours?  "  retorts  Lucy,  sarcastic  and  incredu 
lous. 

"I  don't  deny  but  I  may  have  been  interested,"  Abner 
confesses ;  "  but  "  — 

"Not  for  fifty  fortunes  would  I  become  Mrs.  Koane!" 
interrupts  Lucy.  "  Now,  if  you  know  any  secret  that  I  ought 
to  be  made  acquainted  with,  tell  it  like  a  man,  and  I'll  thank 
you." 

"I  —  re'lly  "  —  Abner  puts  on  his  hat,  and  two  flames 
appear  to  be  extinguished  —  "I  ain't  so  green  as  to  give 
you  my  secret  on  any  such  terms,  Miss  Arlyn.  It's  cost  me 
something,  and  it'll  cost  me  a  good  deal  more,  to  come  out 
for  you  against  —  no  matter  who,  since  you're  so  offish;  " 
and  Abner  is  "  offish  "  too. 

At  this  critical  moment  in  Lucy's  fortunes,  a  third  person, 
coming  to  the  bridge,  puts  an,  end  to  the  conference.  It  is 
Archy.  Abner  retreats  :  Lucy  remains. 

The  genius  has  not  come  to  urge  his  suit  in  opposition  to 
Elphaz  and  Abner,  but  to  bring  her  a  letter. 

"  From  Guy  !  "  cries  Lucy,  surprised. 

After  the  long  talk  in  the  woods,  and  then*  many  last  words 


78  THE    LOVES    OF    ELPHAZ    PELT 

at  parting,  scarcely  two  hours  ago,  he  has  still  something  to 
say  to  her.  For  love  is  infinite ;  and,  pour  it  out  as  we  may 
in  the  channels  of  language,  the  fountain  is  always  full  and 
running  over. 

The  letter  seems  to  glow  in  Lucy's  hand.  She  hides  it, 
and  addresses  the  genius ;  so  kindly,  and  yet  so  sadly,  that 
tears  come  into  the  eyes  that  worship  her. 

"  Archy,  I  am  going  away,  to-morrow  morning,  in  the 
early  train.  I  want  you  to  help  me.  Come  to  the  house 
at  five  :  nobody  will  be  up  then.  I  am  going  alone,  —  all 
alone,  Archy." 

She  attempts  to  say  more,  but  her  tears  rush  up  ;  and, 
giving  the  genius  her  hand,  she  hurries  away,  and  leaves 
him,  dumb  with  distress,  standing  on  the  bridge. 

Little  cares  she  now  for  the  cross  looks  of  Sophy  and  her 
mother.  A  greater  trial  overshadows  the  less.  She  lifts  her 
eyes  above  the  petty  briers  that  annoy  her,  to  the  drearily 
sighing  tree  of  desolation  which  seems  to  fill  the  sky  of  her 
future.  In  the  bleakness  and  gloom,  with  tremor  and  heart 
ache,  she  reads  Gruy's  letter.  Such  love  !  —  and  she  must  put 
it  from  her !  Such  happiness  reaching  to  embrace  her  !  —  and 
she  must  fly  from  it !  Such  tender  entreaties,  passionate 
appeals!  —  and  her  heart  must  seem  cruel  and  deaf!  "I 
know,"  he  writes,  "  that  your  deep  woman's  heart  will  keep 
you  true  to  me;  "  and,  when  next  he  hears  from  her,  she 
will  be  gone  !  Oh !  has  she  not  deceived  him  wickedly  ? 
What  despair  will  be  his !  What  utter  loneliness  will  be  hers  ! 


AND    ABNER    ROANE.  79 

"  Guy,  Guy,  I  cannot  leave  you  !  God  help  me,  I  can 
not  !  "  And  she  covers  his  letter  with  kisses.  But,  after 
the  wild  outburst,  her  resolution  and  calm  thoughts  come 
back  to  her  like  guardian  angels,  soothing  and  counselling. 

The  certainty  of  his  disinheritance  if  they  are  openly 
united ;  his  habits  and  temper,  that  unfit  him  for  a  life  of 
labor  and  privation ;  the  prophecy  of  her  heart  that  he  will 
some  day  regret  the  sacrifice,  if  she  permits  him  to  make  it ; 
the  instinctive  repugnance  to  a  secret  intercourse  and  a  life 
of  deception  felt  by  all  true  souls ;  the  faith  she  has  that 
time  will  untie  the  knot  of  difficulty  that  entangles  them,  if 
they  will  but  wait,  —  all  this  comes  up  again  :  but,  more  than 
all  this,  something  within  or  above  impels  her,  —  a  magnet, 
as  it  were,  in  the  very  core  of  her  will ;  and,  stronger  than 
the  confused  counsels  of  reason  and  desire,  a  still  small  voice 
whispers  continually,  "  Fly,  fly,  from  this  temptation !  " 

Lost  in  this  whirl  of  thoughts,  she  quite  forgets  Abner, 
and  the  fortune  she  has  missed ;  Pelt  and  his  proposals ;  but 
not  her  father.  Oh,  could  she  but  go  now  to  his  bosom,  — 
large  and  rugged  and  strong,  but  tender  as  a  mother's,  — 
cling  to  his  neck,  put  her  cheek  against  his  dear  rough  beard, 
and  cry  out  her  troubles  in  his  infolding  arms !  Or,  since 
that  cannot  be,  if  she  only  had  to  console  her  that  big,  badly 
spelled,  tumultuously  fond  letter  that  came  this  day,  en 
closed  to  Elphaz,  the  ashes  of  which  are,  at  this  moment, 
crumbling  in  the  draught  of  the  lawyer's  office  stove  ! 


80  FLIGHT. 


vn. 

FLIGHT. 

UT,  motherless  and  fatherless  as  Lucy  feels,  her 
aunt  is  still  left  her. 

That  strait-laced  Pharisee  comes  to  her  room 
at  dusk. 

"  Well,  miss  !  this  is  pretty  conduct !  Traipsing  round 
all  day,  and  now  coming  off  here  to  mope  !  Where  have  you 
been?" 

No  response  from  Lucy  :  her  heart  is  ice.  "  Answer  me, 
then  !  "  And  Mrs.  Pin  worth  grasps  her  arm  with  a  vigor  of 
clutch  which  leaves  black  rings  imprinted. 

Aroused  by  the  pain,  "  I  will  answer  you  !  "  cries  Lucy, 
"  once  for  all," — flashing  back  her  indignation  through  the 
dusk,  —  "  you  wicked,  cruel  woman  !  " 

1 '  What  ?  you  call  me  "  —  A  violent  shake  of  the  grasped 
arm  rounds  the  sentence. 

Lucy  feels  a  momentary  impulse  to  stick  her  scissors  into 
the  Pinworth  wrist.  She  restrains  it,  however  :  she  will 
speak  scissors,  but  use  none. 


FLIGHT.  81 

"I  call  you  what  you  are  !  You  know  it  is  true  :  you 
know  you  have  been  wicked  and  cruel  to  me  !  " 

"  This,"  gasps  the  astonished  lady,  "  after  all  I  have  done 
for  you!" 

"  What  have  you  done?  Have  you  kept  your  promise  to 
my  father  ?  —  my  poor  father,  who  is  so  good  himself,  he 
thinks  every  one  is  a  saint  that  seems  so  !  You  were  to  be 
a  mother  to  me ;  but  what  a  mother  !  " 

"  Lucy  !  —  Lucy  !  — how  dare  you  "  — 

"  If  anybody  needed  kindness,  or  longed  to  repay  it  with 
love,  I  did,"  —  and,  at  the  recollection,  Lucy  bursts  into  tears. 
"  Oh  !  why  did  you  make  me  hate  you?  I  would  have  been 
your  slave,  if  you  would  only  have  been  kind  to  me.  But 
oh  !  you  have  been  so  harsh,  so  cruel,  so  unjust !  " 

"  Ungrateful !  "  Mrs.  Pinworth  articulates,  between  fury 
and  alarm. 

"Haven't  I  worked  for  you?"  answers  Lucy.  "And 
didn't  my  father  give  you  more  money  than  I  have  ever  cost 
you  ?  Do  I  owe  you  for  any  thing  but  injuries  ?  Oh  !  and 
you  might  have  made  me  love  you  !  "  she  adds  in  a  voice 
that  has  less  anger  in  it  than  sharp  pain  and  regret. 

At  that,  down  goes  the  Pinworth  relict  on  her  knees  to 
chastise  her  niece  before  the  Lord  in  prayer.  Lucy  can't 
stand  that. 

"  You  are  not  a  Christian,  Aunt  Pinworth.  You  don't  do 
as  you  would  be  done  by.  You  don't  love  anybody  but 
yourself.  You  are  without  charity.  Your  prayers  are  wicked 
6 


82  FLIGHT. 

prayers,  and  I  won't  bear  them !  "  She  thrusts  her  ringers 
in  her  ears  :  a  needless  precaution,  however ;  for  Mrs.  Pin- 
worth,  unaccustomed  to  having  the  truth  dashed  into  her 
teeth  so  defiantly,  is  too  strongly  agitated,  and  perhaps  self- 
convicted,  to  go  through  with  the  intended  mockery.  She 
begins  to  weep.  Lucy  is  touched.  "  Yes,  yes,  you  may 
pray,  I  will  hear  you,"  she  adds,  relenting.  "  Oh!  if  you 
would  only  pray  with  me  as  my  mother  used  to  pray  !  I 
need  such  prayers,  I  am  so  weak,  so  unhappy !  " 

Within  the  nut  of  the  hardest  heart  some  human  juices 
may  be  found,  if  you  can  only  crack  it.  Lucy,  without 
knowing  it,  has  pierced  the  Pinworth  shell.  The  rude  truth 
she  has  spoken  could  not  alone  have  done  it ;  but  LOVE,  which 
gives  truth  its  greatest  power,  —  LOVE,  which  burns  and 
yearns  deep  down  in  Lucy's  soul,  and  struggles  up  through 
every  thing,  —  LOVE  has  done  the  work. 

"You  have  misunderstood  me,  we  have  misunderstood 
each  other,"  the  widow  falters.  "  Perhaps  I  am  not  a  Chris 
tian  ;  but  God  knows  I  mean  to  be  !  "  with  a  burst  of  sincerity 
in  her  tones,  which  gives  Lucy  a  new  insight  into  human 
character,  and  teaches  her  charity. 

It  flashes  upon  her  in  an  instant,  that  the  worst  hypocrite 
is  not  all  hypocrisy,  nor  the  worst  villain  all  villany ;  but 
self-deception,  fancied  necessity,  the  entanglement  of  circum 
stances,  betray  them  into  wrong  when  they  wish  to  do  right. 
In  order  to  judge  them,  we  must  learn  to  see  them  as  they 
see  themselves,  which  only  God  can  do,  and  such  generous 


FLIGHT.  83 

and  sympathetic  souls  as  have  the  spirit  of  God.  Lucy  re 
pents  of  having  judged  her  aunt ;  and  there,  humbly,  tearfully, 
by  the  light  of  the  rising  moon  that  shines  into  the  chamber, 
she  asks  forgiveness  for  that  fault,  unintentionally  dropping 
fresh  coals  upon  Mrs.  Pinworth's  head. 

In  order  truly  to  humble  others,  we  must  be  humble  our 
selves  ;  to  conquer,  we  must  be  self-conquered ;  to  melt  stony 
hearts,  ours  must  be  full  of  melting  fire.  The  aunt  stands 
trembling  and  pale  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Forgive  me,  Lucy  !  I  know  I  have  done  wrong  :  we 
can't  always  do  right.  When  I  can  pray  with  you,  I  will  ; 
not  now.  Don't  you  want  some  supper?"  she  asks  with 
unwonted  kindness. 

"  I  don't  care  for  any :  I  can't  go  down  now,'*  answers 
the  niece,  looking  out  upon  the  moonlit  world. 

Mrs.  Pinworth  is  gone ;  and  there,  by  the  window,  Lucy 
musing  sits,  until,  to  her  utter  astonishment,  the  door  is  again 
opened,  and  her  aunt  returns,  bringing  a  lamp,  with  cake  and 
pie  on  a  plate. 

"  You'd  better  eat  something,  Lucy."  And,  setting  down 
the  things,  Mrs.  Pinworth  retires  again,  silently,  and  with 
something  of  her  old  dignity, 

Lucy's  impulse  is  to  call  her  back,  and  tell  her  all ;  but  she 
hears  Sophy's  voice. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  fool  as  you  are,  mother  !  —  carrying 
supper  up  to  that  selfish,  lazy  thing  !  She  don't  deserve  any 
supper !  " 


84  FLIGHT. 

Which  decides  her  to  keep  her  own  counsel,  and  perform 
in  silence  and  secrecy  what  she  has  resolved. 

The  long  night ;  the  preparation  for  the  journey ;  the  sighs, 
the  thoughts  of  love,  the  prayers ;  the  stars  setting,  the  day 
rising,  the  suffering  soul  still  watching,  —  why  dwell  upon  all 
this? 

Joyously  as  ever  sang  the  first  bird  under  Lucy's  window. 
Clear  and  sweet  and  silvery  was  the  dawn ;  and,  at  the  com 
ing  of  the  sun,  all  the  angels  of  light  and  color  flew  before  to 
curtain  and  carpet  his  way. 

Lucy's  resolution  was  not  like  the  sun,  but  resembled  more 
the  wan  and  crumbled  disk  of  the  old  moon,  fading  to  a 
sickly  film  over  the  way  she  was  to  go.  Yet  that  way  lay 
her  destiny.  She  had  ceased  to  reason  or  resist :  follow  she 
must  that  sad  and  pallid  face ;  though  love  pursued  her  like 
the  greater  orb,  all  life  and  fire. 

Looking  from  the  window,  she  saw  Archy  waiting  for  orders 
by  the  garden  fence.  At  a  sign  from  her,  he  came  upon  the 
piazza.  There  she  met  him,  dressed  for  her  journey,  and 
bringing  out  her  travelling  effects,  all  contained  in  a  band-box 
and  bag.  The  genius  took  them  from  her.  They  departed 
in  silence.  Farewell  to  the  Pinworth  household  —  forever  ! 

"  0  Archy  !  "  said  Lucy,  —  something  like  a  throb  of  joy 
thrilling  her  when  the  irretrievable  step  was  taken,  and  she 
walked  free  under  the  morning  sky,  —  "  if  our  flying-machine 
was  only  ready !  Wouldn't  we  dash  up  into  the  delicious 
ether ;  bathe  our  heads  in  the  sunshine,  like  eagles ;  float  off 


FLIGHT.  85 

on  that  silver  sea,  Archy,  among  those  fiery  islands ;  and, 
if  we  should  ever  wish  to  come  down,  look  out  for  some 
country  where  it  is  always  morning  !  " 

Although  his  invention  had  never  been  made  to  appear  so 
poetical  before,  Archy  did  not  smile. 

"  But,"  said  Lucy,  "  I  suppose  cars  and  carriages  must 
answer  till  you  get  out  your  patent.  What  makes  you  so 
sober,  Archy?" 

"  I  hate  to  have  you  go,  the  wust  kind  !  "  said  the  genius, 
brimful  of  grief.  "  I'd  ruther  give  any  thing  !  " 

"  0  Archy  !  I  believe  you  are  the  best  boy  in  the  world  ! 
I'd  stay  if  I  could,  if  only  to  please  you.  What  are  you 
stopping  for  ?  We've  no  time  to  spare.  Let  me  take  the 
band-box." 

' '  Oh,  no  !  "  The  genius  held  it  between  his  feet.  ' '  I  can 
carry  'em." 

"  Then  don't  stop.  Oh,  you  mean  to  make  me  lose  the 
cars,  Archy  !  " 

"  No,  I  don't ;  not  if  you're  bent  on  goin'.  I  —  I  wish  " 
He  was  feeling  in  his  pocket,  —  for  his  handkerchief,  Lucy 
thought ;  but  he  brought  out  instead  an  old  leather  purse. 
"I  got  a  little  money,  —  not  much.  I  don't  want  it;  and 
I'll  be  much  obleeged  to  you  if  you'll  take  it  off  my  hands." 

"  0  Archy  !  don't  make  me  cry  !  God  bless  you,  Archy  ! 
but  I  have  saved  a  little  money  for  this  very  journey." 

"  Maybe  you  won't  have  enough  :  you've  got  to  take  it !  " 
And  he  tried  to  hang  the  purse  on  her  wrist. 


86  FLIGHT. 

"  No,  no  :  I  can't,  Archy.  You  -will  want  it  more  than  I 
shall :  there,  put  it  up."  Lucy  insisted ;  and  reluctantly  the 
genius  returned  the  leathern  receptacle  with  its  small  cash 
contents  to  his  pocket. 

He  snuffled  a  little,  used  his  sleeve,  and  took  up  the  lug 
gage.  They  walked  on  in  silence.  Suddenly  he  stopped 
again,  with  a  startled  look,  his  mouth  open,  as  if  he  had  for 
gotten  something. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  done  wrong  !  " 

"  You,  Archy?     You  couldn't  do  wrong." 

"  Guy  wanted  to  see  me  arter  I  brought  you  the  letter  last 
night.  I  didn't  think  but  that  he  knowed ;  and  I'm  afraid 
I  told  him  "  — 

"  That  I  was  going  this  morning  ?  "  cried  Lucy. 

"  Not  exactly  that;  but  you  see,  when  he  got  hold  of  me, 
he  wanted  to  know  jest  how  you  looked,  and  what  you  said, 
and  every  thing ;  and  wouldn't  let  me  go  nohow  till  I  had  told 
him  sumpthin'.  I  couldn't  help  it :  I'm  real  sorry,"  said  the 
genius  regretfully,  observing  Lucy's  alarm.  "  I  hope  'twon't 
be  no  harm." 

"I  hope  not.  Come!"  She  caught  up  the  bandbox, 
and  hurried  him  away,  looking  eagerly  before  and  behind, 
thrilling  at  the  thought  of  Guy,  fearing  he  might  appear  to 
intercept  her,  and  yet,  despite  her  soul,  almost  hoping  he 
would. 

"  That's  the  whistle  !  "  said  Archy. 

"  His  whistle  ?"  was  her  first  thought,  remembering  his 


FLIGHT.  87 

well-known  signal  to  his  dogs.  But  no  :  it  was  the  approach 
ing  train,  uttering  its  wild  scream  of  warning  from  afar. 

"  I  am  glad  !     Oh,  you  must  help  me  now  !  " 

She  almost  ran.  The  railroad  station  was  near.  They  bus 
tled  in  :  a  ticket  was  bought ;  the  bag  was  checked ;  the  train 
arrived.  In  a  whirl  of  excitement,  Lucy  stepped  aboard. 
Archy  handed  her  the  band-box,  and  they  shook  hands. 
How  breathlessly  it  all  happened  ! 

"  Good-by,  Archy  !  "  and  she  disappeared  in  the  car. 

The  train  started,  and  Arcby  stood  staring  mournfully 
after  her ;  when  sudden  bounding  footsteps  were  heard,  and  a 
form  rushed  swiftly  past,  chasing  the  cars,  catching  an  iron 
hand-rail,  and,  with  a  vigorous  leap  and  swing,  alighting  safely 
upon  the  platform. 

It  was  Guy  Bannington. 


88  THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    STORY. 


vm. 

THE  HOUSEKEEPER'S  STORY.— DOCTOR 
BIDDIKIN. 

T  nine  o'clock  that  morning,  Aaron  Burble  was 
dressing  Colonel  Bannington  ;  Aaron's  wife  was 
shelling  green  pease  in  the  kitchen ;  and  Archy, 
sitting  in  the  door,  was  watching  her,  with  his  pocket-knife 
open,  his  mouth  ditto,  and  his  mind  vaguely  oscillating  be 
tween  Lucy  and  a  patent  pea-sheller. 

"If  the  colonel  don't  want  ye,  Archy,"  observed  Mrs. 
Burble  in  a  confidential  whisper,  "  I'll  tell  ye  what  we'll  do. 
Soon  as  Ann  Mari'  comes  back,  and  Aaron  gits  away  (for 
Aaron  is  dead  set  against  her  being  a  medium),  we'll  have 
another  little  circle.  Jest  help  me  shell  these  pease,  and  we'll 
be  all  ready." 

"Ma  says  she's  afraid  to  have  me  set  in  circles;  thinks 
it'll  hurt  me.  I  told  her  how  we  sot  "  — 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  housekeeper,  "  there's  Aaron  !  "  at  sight 
of  whom  the  subject  was  judiciously  dropped,  and  the  two 
sat  silently  intent  upon  opening  the  innocent  pea-pods. 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    STORY.  89 

"  I've  got  him  into  his  chair :.  if  he  want's  you,  he'll  ring," 
Aaron  said  to  Archy,  and  disappeared. 

"He  hates  wus'n  pizon  to  hear  a  word  about  sperits," 
whispered  Mrs.  Burble,  looking  up  slyly.  "  He  won't  be 
back  much  'fore  noon,  I  guess;  and  we'll  have  a  re'l  com 
fortable  time  on't.  Here  comes  Ann  Mari' !  " 

A  red-cheeked  girl  of  thirteen  came  running  in,  bringing  a 
bag  of  groceries  and  a  budget  of  news. 

"  Only  think,  mother!  "  she  cried  breathlessly:  "Lucy 
Arlyn  has  run  away  !  " 

"  Why,  Ann  Mari',  how  you  talk  !  " 

"  Yes ;  and  Mrs.  Pinworth  feels  dreadfully  !  She  went  to 
her  room  this  morning,  and  found  her  gone :  she  took  with 
her  lots  of  things,  and  left  nothing  but  a  letter  to  say  good- 
fcy.  And,  don't  you  think  !  Jenkins  at  the  depot  says  he 
see  Guy  jump  on  to  the  same  cars  she  took,  jest  as  they  had 
started ;  and  it's  all  over  the  village  how  they've  gone  off 
together !  " 

"  Massy  sakes !  "  said  Mrs.  Burble,  "  won't  this  be  a  nice 
mess  for  Colonel  Bannington  to  hear  !  He  hates  the  Arlyns 
BO  like —  You're  spillin'  the  pease,  Archy  !  " 

Arousing  from  his  stupor,  the  genius  righted  his  dish. 

"I  don't  see  what  makes  him:  I  don't  see  how  anybody 
can  hate  her,"  he  murmured. 

"Her  father  and  the  colonel  was  great  friends  once,  you 
know,"  said  the  housekeeper;  "and  I  believe  it  always  hap 
pens,  that,  when  friends  quarrel,  they  spite  each  other  wus'n 
as  if  they'd  always  been  enemies." 


90  THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    STORY. 

"  What  made  'em  ever  quarrel  ?  " 

"That  I  don't  know;    and  I  guess  they  never  knowed 
themselves.     Bannington  got  Arlyn  to  come  and  take  charge 
of  his  farming  business ;  and  for  a  long  time  they  was  jest 
like  a  couple  o'  brothers.     But  "  — in  a  cautious  whisper  — 
"  the  colonel's  got  an  awful  temper :  I  guess  you've  found 
that  out !     Arlyn   was  quick   too,  and   high  -  sperited :    he 
couldn't  stand   nobody's   domineerin'    ways.      So   you   see 
'twan't  in  natur'  't  them  two  should  git  along  together ;  and, 
when  they  did  fall  out,  'twas  like  flint  and  steel,  and  the  fire 
flew.     Arlyn  took  a  miff,  and  quit  short  off  in  the  middle  of 
summer:    that  madded  the  colonel.      They  couldn't  agree 
about  a  settlement ;  and  so  they  went  to  law.     Most  folks 
thought  Arlyn  was  in  the  right  on't ;  but  Bannington  had  the 
most  money,  and  he  kep'  the  law-suits  goin',  carryin'  on  'em 
up  from  one  court  to  another,  till  bime-by  there  was  a  final 
judgment.     It  went  against  Arlyn,  and  it  jest  broke  him  all 
to  pieces.     He's  a  great,  strong,  big-hearted  man;   but  I 
once  see  him  cry  like  a  child,  talkin'  about  it.     He  wouldn't 
mind  the  loss  of  his  property,  he  said,  only  for  Lucy's  sake ; 
and  he  couldn't  speak  her  name  without  chokin'  right  up,  as 
if  his  very  heart  was  broke.    It'll  be  the  dreadfulest  blow  of 
all  when  he  hears  of  this." 

"  Of  course,  Gruy'll  marry  her,"  said  the  simple-hearted 
genius. 

But  Mrs.  Burble  shook  her  sagacious  head. 

"  A  young  man  that  thinks  as  much  of  dogs  and  hosses 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    STORY.  91 

and  good  times  as  he  does  won't  be  apt  to  give  'em  up  for 
any  girl :  though  I  believe  Lucy  is  good  enough  for  him,  any 
day ;  and  they've  always  been  partial  to  each  other.  But  the 
colonel"  — 

"  He  thinks  Mr.  Arlyn  give  him  them  bad  legs,"  sug 
gested  Archy. 

"I  know  something  about  that.  You  remember,  all  Ar- 
lyn's  property  was  seized ;  and,  with  the  rest,  a  colt  he  sot 
every  thing  by.  Jest  to  spite  him,  the  colonel  bid  in  the 
colt,  and  used  to  ride  it.  One  day,  Arlyn  was  in  the  village, 
and  went  to  cross  the  street.  It  was  wet  and  muddy;  and,  jest 
as  he  got  half-way  acrost,  who  should-  come  along  but  the 
colonel  on  that  very  colt,  dancing  and  prancing  in  fine  style, 
and  spatterin'  Arlyn  all  over  from  head  to  foot. 

"  'You  better  take  care  ! '  says  Arlyn,  says  he;  for  he 
wouldn't  stir  out  of  his  way  for  any  thing  under  heavens.  He 
stood  with  his  fists  doubled.  '  Prince  ! '  says  he  to  the  colt, 
'  don't  ye  know  me  ?  ' 

"  But  the  colt  kep'  kind  o'  backin'  around,  and  caperin' 
sideways,  as  you  know  some  bosses  will ;  till  bime-by  the 
colonel's  boot  hit  Arlyn 's  arm.  The  colonel  always  said  he 
didn't  mean  to ;  but,  whether  he  did  or  not,  that  was  enough 
for  Ben  Arlyn.  My  husband  he  was  the  fust  to  run  and 
dick  up  the  colonel :  he  says  it  happened  jest  like  a  flash. 
The  colt  was  gallopin'  away  with  the  empty  saddle ;  the 
colonel  was  a-lyin'  on  the  ground,  jest  where  he  had  been 
flung ;  and  Arlyn  he  was  walkin'  away  like  a  king  o'  the 


92  THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    STORY. 

'arth.  He's  a  large,  tall  man,  ye  know ;  and  with  his  blood 
up,  and  fists  doubled,  you  can  imagine  nobody  das'  to  touch 
him. 

"Aaron  helped  git  the  colonel  home.  He  didn't  seem 
to  be  much  hurt,  though  he  was  stunted  at  fust ;  but  he 
was  the  excitedest  man !  And  the  consequence  was,  he  had 
that  stroke  of  paralysis ;  and  waked  up  the  next  morning,  as 
he  says,  with  a  couple  of  sticks  o'  wood  in  bed  with  him 
'stid  of  legs.  But  come  now,  we're  all  ready,  and  le's  have 
that  settin'  'fore  Aaron  comes." 

Mrs.  Burble  made  haste  to  dispose  of  the  pease,  and  pre 
pare  for  the  comfortable  time  she  anticipated.  Just  then,  the 
colonel's  bell  jingled.  Archy  was  wanted;  and,  to  the 
grievous  disappointment  of  the  spiritual-minded  housekeeper, 
it  became  necessary  to  postpone  intercourse  with  the  higher 
spheres  till  a  inpre  convenient  season. 

"  I  feel  as  though  we  should  have  a  setting  yet  this  fore 
noon,"  said  Ann  Maria;  "and  that  somebody  is  going  to 
come." 

"  Is  it  an  impression  ?  "  her  mother  asked. 

Ann  Maria  "guessed  so;"  and,  whatever  it  was,  it  re 
ceived  a  remarkable  fulfilment  about  half  an  hour  after 
wards. 

A  rickety  old  chaise,  with  a  torn  and  faded  top,  drawn  by 
a  raw-boned  white  horse,  drew  up  at  the  foot  of  the  avenue. 
There  it  stopped,  and'  two  persons  got  out.  One  of  them,  a 
shrivelled  and  seedy  little  old  man,  advanced  briskly  into  the 
garden. 


DOCTOR    BIDDIK1N.  93 

"  Colonel  Bannington,  how  do  you  do?  "  he  cried  with  an 
air  of  great  vivacity,  grasping  the  invalid's  hand. 

"Why  didn't  you  drive  in,  doctor?"  asked  the  colonel 
with  icy  sarcasm. 

The  seedy  little  man  smiled  a  droll  smile,  screwed  up  his 
face,  and  put  his  hands  together  with  the  air  of  one  accus 
tomed  to  keeping  up  an  appearance  of  gayety  and  fine  man 
ners  on  a  very  small  capital. 

"  The  truth  is,  I've  a  borrowed  horse ;  and  my  vehicle  isn't 
quite  so  elegant  as  it  might  be  :  but  I've  seen  better  times,  — 
you  can  say  that  for  me,  colonel." 

The  paralytic,  glancing  up  cynically  at  the  chattering  little 
old  man,  looked  like  a  modern  Diogenes  in  a  wheeled  tub. 
"  What !  "  he  said,  "  haven't  you  dug  up  your  money  yet?  " 

"  Well,  no,  not  yet,"  pleasantly  replied  the  doctor  :  "  I'm 
very  near  it,  though,  —  very  near  it.  Here's  a  gentleman 
that  can  tell  you  something  about  it.  Colonel  Bannington, 
my  friend  Mr.  Murk,  the  philanthropist." 

Mr.  Murk,  the  philanthropist,  offered  to  shake  hands;  a 
civility  which  Diogenes  did  not  notice,  or  did  not  choose  to 
reciprocate. 

"  Ha  !  a  suffering  brother  !  "  observed  .Mr.  Murk,  not  in 
the  least  disconcerted ;  and  he  proceeded  to  manipulate  the 
colonel's  legs,  while  the  colonel's  eyes  blazed. 

"  Hem !  "  coughed  the  little  doctor,  with  his  thumbs 
joined,  rising  upon  his  toes:  "we  have  come  on  what  you 
will  call  a  very  singular  errand,  Colonel  Bannington.  This 


94  DOCTOR     BIDDIKIN. 

gentleman  has  been  told  all  about  that  treasure  of  mine  by 
invisible  intelligences,  —  you  know  what  I  mean,  —  the 
spirits  !  " 

Diogenes  gave  a  snort  of  contempt. 

Mr.  Murk,  the  philanthropist,  not  at  all  discouraged,  then 
began  to  thwack  his  breast  with  his  fists,  and  make  solemn 
grimaces;  whereat  Archy,  looking  on,  suddenly  exploded 
with  a  sense  of  the  grotesque. 

"  It  is  very  singular  :  don't  you  think  so,  colonel  ?  The 
spirits  have  told  him  that  there  are  two  mediums  in  the  neigh 
borhood  which  we  must  consult.  I  said  I  believed  there  were 
one  in  your  kitchen:  were  I  right?"  And  the  doctor, 
with  his  puny  arms  folded  primly  across  his  epitome  of  an 
abdomen,  bent  over  genteelly,  with  a  twist  of  his  long,  lean 
neck,  which  brought  that  eager,  skinny,  smirking  face  of  his 
into  disagreeable  proximity  with  the  colonel's. 

"  Doctor  Biddikin !  "  exclaimed  the  latter  with  immense 
disgust,  "  do  you  believe  that  stuff?  " 

"  Ah  !  I  —  I'm  not  wholly  prepared  to  believe  it !  "  cried 
Biddikin,  catching  his  cue  from  the  colonel.  "  They  can't 
blame  us  for  being  sceptical,  —  old  settlers  like  you  and  me, 
Colonel  Bannington  !  But  there  can't  be  much  harm  in  in 
vestigating,  can  there,  do  you  think  ?  Accordingly,  I  con 
sented  to  come  and  see  if  Maria  —  I  think  that's  her  name 
—  can  tell  us  any  thing ;  with  your  permission,  of  course, 
colonel !  "  — deferentially,  and  with  a  tendency  to  rise  upon 
the  toes. 


DOCTOR    BIDDIKIN.  95 

"  I  won't  hinder  you,"  snarled  the  colonel ;  "  but  you  are 
hindering  me.  Take  away  that  wind-mill!"  meaning  Mr. 
Murk,  the  philanthropist. 

Doctor  Biddikin,  disguising  his  chagrin,  if  he  felt  any,  un 
der  an  airy  exterior,  rubbed  his  hands,  and  smiled  his  droll 
smile. 

''Ah,  ha  !  well  said !  —  Come,  Mr.  Murk  !  " 

Mr.  Murk  stood  before  the  chair,  imperturbable,  with  his 
right  arm  extended,  and  his  eyes  closed. 

"  This  individual,"  he  said,  indicating  Diogenes,  "  can  be 
made  to  arise  and  walk ;  but  he  has  not  sufficient  faith  : 
therefore  we  shall  not  be  able  to  do  any  thing  for  him  at  this 
time."  And,  like  one  suddenly  awaking,  he  winked  his 
fishy  eyes,  looked  round  with  a  dry  smile,  and  walked  off 
with  Doctor  Biddikin  to  find  Ann  Maria. 

Archy  had  to  work  hard  during  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  wheel  the  colonel  into  good-humor.  This  task  was 
hardly  accomplished  when  Dr.  Biddikin  re-appeared,  bare 
headed,  bowing  and  smirking. 

"  Beg  a  thousand  pardons,  Colonel  Bannington !  But 
could  you  spare  us  this  young  man  a  few  minutes?  " 

"  Halt !  "  said  Diogenes  sharply.  The  tub  stood  still ;  and, 
turning  his  grim  white  face,  he  measured  the  doctor's  meagre 
anatomy  with  jeering  and  sparkling  malice.  "  What  was 
your  cool  remark,  Doctor  Cucumber  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  responsible,"  that  seedy  vegetable  hastened  to 
say:  "it  were  rapped  out  by  the  alphabet,  'Have  Arcky 
present:  he  is  a  medium.''  ' 


96  DOCTOR    BIDDIKIN. 

"  Are  you  a  medium,  Archy  ?  " 

"  No,  not  as  I  know  on  !  "  said  Archy  sheepishly.  "  Only 
I  sot  with  Miss  Burble  and  Ann  Mari'  twice,  and  sumpthin' 
jerked  my  arms  like  sixty  :  I  d'n'  know  what  'twas !  " 

"  Couldn't  you  stop  the  jerking  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  more'n  nothin'  !  "  exclaimed  Archy,  with  a  face 
honest  enough  even  for  the  supicious  eyes  of  the  colonel. 

"  That  were  certainly  very  singular  !  "  said  Doctor  Biddi- 
kin.  "  I'm  very  anxious  to  investigate !  Shall  Archy 
come?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  colonel,  showing  his  teeth  ;  "  and  I'll 
come  too  !  "  he  added,  to  the  great  surprise  and  consternation 
of  Doctor  Biddikin.  And,  to  the  still  greater  consternation 
of  Mrs.  Burble,  he  was  wheeled  to  the  dining-room,  and 
placed  in  the  midst  of  the  circle  around  the  table. 

"  I  don't  hear  any  thing  yet  from  my  son,"  the  doctor  said 
aside  to  the  colonel. 

"I  should  think  you'd  be  damned  glad  you  don't,"  the 
colonel  said  aside  to  the  doctor. 

"It's  a  great  trial  to  me  to  have  him  gone,"  remarked 
Biddikin  sympathetically. 

"  It  was  a  still  greater  trial  to  have  him  at  home,  I  should 
think,"  answered  Bannington  cynically.  "  I  swear,  I  be 
lieve  I  never  saw  you  yet  but  you  had  something  to  say  about 
your  troubles  with  that  precious  rascal !  " 

"  His  conduct  has  well-nigh  broken  my  heart !  "  sighed 
the  doctor.  * '  This  continued  anxiety  —  I'm  in  hopes,  if  there 


DOCTOR    BIDDIKIN.  97 

be  any  thing  in  spiritualism,  that  I  may  hear  something  about 
him." 

"  All  please  to  set  up  near,  and  put  your  hands  on  the 
table,"  said  Mrs.  Burble,  recovering  her  equanimity. 

Archy  giggled.  Mr.  Murk  thwacked  his  breast,  and  in 
formed  the  company  that  Swedenborg  was  present.  Ana 
Maria,  bending  over  the  table,  inquired  if  Swedenborg  would 
rap. 

No  response. 

"  Are  there  any  sperits  here  that  will  rap  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Burble,  spreading  her  large  arms  on  the  table,  and  turning 
her  ear  to  listen.  Hearing  nothing,  she  naturally  placed  her 
mouth  near  the  surface,  on  which  the  raps  were  expected  to 
come,  and  called  in  a  louder  key,  "  Any  sperits  here  ?  " 

"  Are  they  deaf?  or  are  they  supposed  to  be  somewhere 
in  the  cellar?  "  said  the  colonel  aside  to  Doctor  Biddikin. 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure  !"  replied  the  doctor,  embar 
rassed  between  his  desire  to  appear  affable  and  the  fear  of 
seeming  irreverent.  • 

Mrs.  Burble,  intent  on  calling  the  spirits,  and  quite  uncon 
scious  of  the  ludicrous  inconsistency  of  shouting  down  to 
them,  put  her  mouth  close  to  the  table,  and  in  a  louder  voice 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Swedenborg !  " 

Mr.  Murk's  arm  jerked  ;  but  there  was  no  rap. 

"  Swedenborg !  "  cried  Mrs.  Burble  :  "  be  you  here?  " 

4 '  He  is  in  the  refrigerator,  or  covered  up  in  the  potato- 
7 


98  DOCTOR    BIDDIKIN. 

bin,"  said  the  colonel.  "  Scream  louder,  Rhody,  and  you'll 
fetch  him  !  "  A  playful  suggestion,  which  threw  the  good 
woman  into  confusion. 

"  There  ain't  harmony  in  the  circle,"  observed  Ann  Maria. 

Mr.  Murk,  the  philanthropist,  whose  fist  kept  wagging  in 
the  air,  then  remarked  that  Swedenborg  was  in  his  arm,  but 
that  he  would  soon  leave  it,  and  go  to  the  table. 

"We  had  very  distinct  raps  before  you  came,  colonel," 
said  Doctor  Biddikin.  "  Suppose  you  take  the  alphabet." 


A    SPIRITUAL    ClfiCLE.  99 


IX. 

A   SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE. 

SOILED  spelling-book  was  placed  before  the 
colonel,  who  took  a  pencil,  and  commenced 
pointing  at  the  A  B  C's  like  a  schoolmaster. 
He  went  over  them  twice  without  success ;  but  the  occupa 
tion  fixed  his  mind  for  the  moment,  and  it  favored  silence. 

"  There's  more  harmony  now,"  said  Ann  Maria  ;  "  a  better 
influence.  Don't  you  feel  it,  mother?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  guess  I  do  !     There  was  a  rap  !  " 

Colonel  Bannington  held  his  pencil  on  the  letter  F,  and 
the  rap  was  distinctly  repeated,  —  a  small,  soft,  concussive 
sound,  on  or  under  the  mahogany,  apparently  very  near  the 
colonel's  hand.  Startled  by  what  he  evidently  did  not  expect, 
he  looked  up  keenly  at  Ann  Maria ;  whose  face,  to  his  disap 
pointment,  betrayed  no  guile,  but  was  full  of  lively,  girlish 
interest. 

"  Is  F  right?  "  asked  Mrs.  Burble. 

A  little  pattering  of  the  same  small,  soft,  concussive  sounds, 
like  a  dry  rain,  all  around  the  colonel's  hand,  was  considered 


100  A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE.       ' 

a  very  decided  affirmative  response.  F  was  accordingly  taken 
down  on  a  sheet  of  foolscap  by  Doctor  Biddikin,  who  acted 
as  scribe. 

The  invalid,  slightly  agitated,  but  far  from  losing  his  shrewd 
sense,  called  for  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  he  placed  over  the 
alphabet  in  a  manner  to  conceal  it  from  all  mortal  eyes  but 
his  own  ;  then  recommenced  pointing.  Rap ! 

"  E,"  said  he  a  moment  after  to  Doctor  Biddikin.  Im 
mediately  there  was  another  rap,  — at  A.  But,  instead  of  re 
peating  the  letter,  he  went  through  the  alphabet,  and,  coming 
back,  began  again  at  B.  No  rap.  C  —  D  —  E  :  still  no 
sound.  But,  the  instant  his  pencil  touched  A,  the  rap  was 
repeated.  The  intelligence  and  persistence  thus  shown  in  the 
rap-producing  power  damped  his  marble  forehead  with  per 
spiration. 

"  Ann !  "  said  he,  once  more  flashing  his  steel-gray  eyes 
upon  the  medium,  "  can  you  see  the  letters  I  point  at?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  girl  with  simple  earnestness.  "  If 
you  think  I  do,  you  needn't  pint  at  'em  at  all,  but  go  over 
'em  in  your  mind.  They'll  rap  jest  the  same  that  way  for 
some  folks." 

Bannington  accordingly  discarded  the  pencil,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  alphabet,  which  he  still  kept  concealed  from  the 
company.  A  rap;  and,  after  some  hesitation,  T  was  an 
nounced.  H,  E,  and  B  were  afterwards  given  in  the  same 
manner.  Then  the  sounds  ceased.  The  colonel,  who  had 
lost  the  run  of  the  letters,  called  on  Doctor  Biddikin  for  the 
result. 


A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE.  101 

"  The  word  feather,"  said  the  doctor,  showing  his  scrawl. 

"  Feather  !  "  echoed  the  colonel,  seeming  greatly  relieved. 
"Not  a  very  ghostly  communication,  doctor.  Feather  — 
in  whose  cap?"  And  he  flung  the  paper  contemptuously 
on  the  table. 

"  Is  feather  right?  "  quietly  inquired  Ann  Maria.  Two 
raps,  —  a  negative  response.  "  Which  letter  is  wrong  ?  The 
first  ?  "  —  No.  "  Second  ?  "  —  Yes.  "  Try  again  for  the 
second  letter?"  —  Yes. 

The  colonel  consented  to  make  another  trial,  and  got  A. 

"  Are  there  two  A's  ?  "  asked  Ann  Maria.  —  No. 

"Then  the  word  is  father !"  cried  Doctor  Biddikin  ex 
citedly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  "  came  the  decided  affirmative  raps. 

The  colonel  snatched  the  record,  and  studied  it ;  astounded 
by  the  ingenious  amendment  of  a  word,  which,  a  moment 
since,  he  felt  certain  had  been  spelled  out  by  the  merest 
chance. 

"I  were  quite  sure,"  cried  Doctor  Biddikin,  "that  the 
knock  came  before  you  got  to  E ;  and  you  pointed  very  fast, 
you  remember." 

The  invalid  made  no  answer,  but  regarded  intently  the 
sheet  of  foolscap,  his  forehead  damp  again. 

"  Is  it  Mr.  Bannington's  father?  "  asked  Ann  Maria. 

Rap,  rap,  rap! 

"  Were  your  father  in  your  mind,  colonel?"  asked  Doc 
tor  Biddikin,  who  had  picked  up  somewhere  a  theory  that 


102  A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE. 

communications  of  that  kind  were  reflections  from  somebody's 
brain. 

The  colonel  compressed  his  narrow  lips.  "  I  wasn't  think 
ing  of  my  father  at  all,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I  no  more  believe 
it's  my  father  than  I  believe  Swedenborg  is  in  Mr.  Murk's 
arm.  If  the  spirit — if  'tis  a  spirit  —  will  tell  me  a  few 
things,  maybe  I'll  begin  to  think  there's  something  in  it.  I 
want  first  the  spirit's  name  in  full." 

Jubilant  affirmative  raps  promised  loudly  to  grant  this  rea 
sonable  request.  They  ceased ;  and  no  more  sounds  could 
be  obtained,  although  the  colonel  sat  for  several  minutes  with 
his  eyes  on  the  spelling-book.  The  truth  was,  that  he  neg 
lected  to  put  his  mind  upon  the  alphabet,  thinking  the  raps 
might  come  the  same. 

"  Look  out,  Archy!  "  whispered  Ann  Maria. 

"Keep  still,  Archy !  "  commanded  the  colonel. 

"I  can't!"  cried  Archy,  jerking  his  arms  violently. 
"  Sumpthin's  got  hold  of  me  !  "  and  he  began  to  pound  the 
table  in  a  fearful  manner. 

"  There's  a  very  powerful  battery  in  the  circle,"  said  Mr. 
Murk,  the  philanthropist,  with  a  phlegmatic  drawl;  "very 
powerful." 

"  I  never  sor  any  thing  so  extraordinary  !  "  ejaculated  Bid- 
dikin. 

"  You  will  see  stranger  things  than  this,"  dryly  prophesied 
Mr.  Murk.  "  The  other  one,  there,  will  begin  next,"  — 
fixing  his  steady  eyes,  with  a  dull  fire  in  them,  on  Ann  Maria, 


A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE.  103 

and  slowly  waving  his  hands,  as  if  throwing  over  her  some 
spell. 

Presently  she  began  to  jerk,  and  pound  the  table,  in  com 
pany  with  Archy. 

"  Now  you'll  see  manifestations  !  "  and  Mr.  Murk  calmly 
folded  his  arms,  looking  on  with  a  stolid  smile.  "  There  are 
our  two  mediums,  doctor." 

"  Very  singular  !  "  aspirated  Biddildn.  "  Is  there  no 
danger?  —  Don't  it  hurt  your  hands?  "  to  the  mediums. 

"  No ;  but,  by  gosh  !  "  broke  forth  Archy  in  a  shaken 
voice,  "  I  wish  I  could  stop  !  " 

There  was  now  observable  a  striking  uniformity  between 
the  movements  of  the  two  mediums.  Archy's  arms  would 
jerk,  then  Ann  Maria's  would  jerk  similarly.  Archy's  head 
would  toss  up  and  down,  and  Ann  Maria's  would  toss  up  and 
down.  Then  they  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  table,  so  exactly  to 
gether,  that  a  listener  would  have  supposed  that  only  one  pair 
of  hands  was  in  motion. 

"  Bandage  their  eyes,  and  see  if  they'll  do  that  as  well !  " 
commanded  the  colonel. 

"  'Twill  make  no  difference,"  observed  Mr.  Murk;  while 
Mrs.  Burble  blindfolded  Ann  Maria ;  and  Doctor  Biddikin, 
Archy.  "This  thing  has  its  use.  There  is  perfect  harmony 
between  them  now.  You  can  have  almost  any  manifestation 
you  want." 

Archy  at  that  moment  clapped  his  hands,  and  shouted ;  at 
which  Ann  Maria  also  clapped,  and,  jumping  up,  ran,  blind- 


104  A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE. 

fold  as  she  was,  out  of  the  dining-room,  and  through  two 
other  rooms,  returning  immediately  with  the  great  family 
Bible  in  her  hands. 

"That  girl  never  knowed  where  that  Bible  was  in  this 
world  !  "  exclaimed  the  amazed  mother. 

Ann  Maria  flung  it  upon  the  table  with  a  heavy  jar ;  and 
Archy,  seizing  it,  turned  over  the  leaves  like  lightning,  ran 
his  hand  up  a  page,  and  stopped,  with  his  finger  fixed. 

"  It's  the  family  record  !  "  said  the  awe-struck  doctor. 

"See  where  his  finger  is  !  "  uttered  the  colonel,  his  face 
pallid  and  wet,  and  his  voice  husky. 

Biddikin  adjusted  his  glasses  with  trembling  hands  ;  but, 
before  he  could  speak,  both  the  mediums  cried  out  with  one 
breath, — 

"  Lucius  Bannington!  " 

The  doctor  got  his  finger  on  the  spot  where  Archy's  was, 
and,  drawing  the  book  towards  him,  read,  — 

"Lucius  Bannington,  born  Sept.  2,  1770;  died  Oct. 
5"  — 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  shout  from  Archy. 

"The  record  lies!  Lucius  Bannington  didn't  die:  I'm 
alive  now,  and  hearty!  Don't  you  believe  it?"  with  which 
words  the  obsessed  youth  made  a  lunge  at  the  colonel,  swung 
him  round  in  his  chair,  and  fell  to  slapping  and  rubbing  his 
legs  with  demoniac  fury. 

"  Take  him  away  !  "  gasped  the  terrified  invalid. 

"  Let    him   work,"    coolly   countermanded    Mr.    Murk. 


A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE.  105 

"  He'll  cure  that  paralysis  :  I've  seen  hundreds  of  such 
cases,"  he  added,  stoical  as  stone  in  the  midst  of  the  general 
consternation. 

"  He's  fainting  !  "  shrieked  little  Doctor  Biddikin,  spring 
ing  to  support  the  colonel ;  who,  overcome  by  superstitious 
terrors,  sank  down  insensible  in  his  chair. 

Archy  desisted  from  operating  on  the  legs,  and,  walking 
gravely  aside,  sat  down  upon  a  lounge ;  while  Mrs.  Burble 
brought  a  camphor-bottle,  and  assisted  Doctor  Biddikin  to  re 
store  the  invalid  to  consciousness. 

"  There  !     Take  away  that  stuff!     I'm  all  right !  " 

"  Will  you  go  to  your  room?  "  asked  the  frightened  house 
keeper. 

"  No  :  I'll  see  it  through.     Sit  clown  !  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  Shall  I  dror  you  to  the  table  again?  "  asked  Doctor  Bid 
dikin;  and,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  wheeled  up  the 
chair.  "  That  were  your  father,  Colonel  Bannington  !  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

Bannington  wiped  his  forehead,  and  sat  silent.  The  circle 
was  formed  again,  omitting  Archy.  Ann  Maria,  having 
taken  the  handkerchief  from  her  eyes  and  come  out  of  her 
abnormal  condition,  answered  with  surprising  calmness  and 
innocence  of  manner,  that,  if  all  would  be  passive,  the  raps 
would  presently  be  heard  again. 

"  Shall  I  take  the  alphabet?  "  said  the  little  doctor,  eagerly 
seizing  it  as  he  spoke ;  his  shrivelled  and  starved  features 
lighting  up  with  an  unwholesome  flush. 


106  A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE. 

"  Any  sperits  here  that  will  rap  to  the  doctor?  "  said  Mrs. 
Burble. 

Instantly  there  came  a  loud  thump,  as  if  some  one  had 
struck  the  table.  The  doctor,  wildly  excited,  looked  round, 
suspicious  that  somebody  was  playing  him  a  trick. 

"  Colonel —  Colonel  Bannington  !  "  he  spluttered,  "  that 
were  a  boot:  you  kicked  the  table!"  forgetting,  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment,  the  colonel's  paralysis.  "  Beg  pardon  ! 
I  —  were  it  a  rap  ?  " 

"  'Twas  the  loudest  rap  I  ever  heard  !  "  said  Ann  Maria  : 
"  wa'n't  it  mother?" 

"  I  guess  it  was  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burble  emphatically. 
"  Ask  any  thing  you  want  to,  doctor." 

"I  —  I  want  them  to  tell  me  about  that  money." 

Thump,  thump,  thump !  came  three  loud  knocks,  which 
made  the  table  shake. 

"I  —  I  confess  —  I'm  too  excited  to  —  I  wish  you'd  ask 
questions  for  me,"  said  the  doctor  to  Ann  Maria,  —  like  a 
weak,  frightened,  old-faced  child  of  sixty  appealing  for  help  to 
a  grave  little  woman  of  thirteen. 

With  quiet  self-reliance,  Ann  Maria  said,  — 

"  Sperits  please  to  give  their  names  ?  " 

Knock,  knock,  knock  ! 

"  Take  a  pencil,  and  pint,  if  you  please." 

With  a  shaky  hand,  the  doctor  went  over  the  alphabet. 
There  was  a  knock  at  M ;  then  at  A  ;  then  at  D  ;  the  doctor 
growing  more  and  more  agitated,  and  at  length,  as  the  next 
letter  —  I  —  was  given,  crying  out  prematurely,  — 


A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE.  107 

"  Madison  !  —  is  the  name  Madison  ?  " 

Thump,  thump,  thump  ! 

"  My  son  !  —  it  is  my  son  Madison  !  "  exclaimed  the  doc 
tor,  jumping  up  from  the  table.  "  Colonel,  it  is  my  son,  — 
my  Madison!  "  clasping  his  skinny  hands,  and  bursting  into 
tears, 

His  passion  soon  spent  itself,  and  he  was  prevailed  upon  to 
be  seated  again. 

"I  don't  believe  Madison  is  dead,"  said  Ann  Maria  in  a 
consolatory  tone. 

"  What !  not  if  he  is  here  and  says  so?"  said  the  little 
doctor.  "  Madison,  my  son,  are  you  present?  " 

If  Madison  made  the  resounding  affirmative  knocks  that 
followed,  he  was  present  most  certainly. 

"  Will  you  tell  us  where  you  died?  "  asked  Ann  Maria, 
inclined  to  refute  him. 

"  At  sea,"  was  spelled  out. 

"What  were  the  cause  of  your  death?"  inquired  the 
bereaved  parent. 

"  Drownded,"  said  the  raps. 

"  Are  you  happy,  my  son  ?  " 

"Jolly!" 

"  That  sounds  jest  like  him  for  all  the  -world  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Burble. 

"  In  what  sphere  are  you,  my  son?  " 

"  Seventh  sphere  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burble,  counting  the 
knocks.  "How  he  has  progressed!  That's  the  highest 
sphere  there  is!  " 


108  A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE 

"He  were  a  wonderful  spiri'chal-minded  boy,  though  bad 
influences  here  kept  him  down.  You  have  better  companions 
now,  my  son,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Perfect  bricks  !  "  spelled  out  the  spiritual-minded  boy. 

"I  —  I  were  never  pleased  with  his  slang  phrases,"  said 
the  doctor,  chagrined.  "  Mr.  Murk,  do  you  think  a  spirit  in 
the  seventh  sphere  would  make  use  of  that  low  expression,  — 
'  perfect  bricks  '?" 

"  These  things  have  their  uses,"  replied  Mr.  Murk.  "  The 
spirit  resumes  its  former  character  in  order  to  give  you  tests 
of  its  identity." 

"  Very  philosophical !  "  said  the  doctor ;  and,  with  return 
ing  enthusiasm,  he  proceeded  with  the  communications. 

Colonel  Bannington,  in  the  mean  while,  had  his  attention 
occupied  by  other  things.  On  the  lounge  sat  Archy,  still  acted 
upon  by  mysterious  influences  ;  now  appearing  to  take  snuff, 
bent  over  like  a  feeble  old  man  ;  wiping  his  eyes  with  Doctor 
Biddikin's  handkerchief,  while  his  hand  seemed  shaking  with 
the  palsy  of  age ;  and  lastly  imitating,  in  movement  and  atti 
tude,  an  octogenarian  carefully  feeling  his  chin,  and  plucking 
out  his  beard,  a  hair  at  a  time,  with  forceps. 

"  Jest  look  !  "  whispered  Mrs.  Burble.  "  Ann  Mari',  do 
see  Archy  !  It's  old  Mr.  Bannington,  over  and  over  again ! 
He  used  to  set  hour  after  hour  jest  like  that,  pullin'  out  his 
baird  with  pinchers ;  for  he  wouldn't  let  anybody  shave  him, 
and  his  hand  had  got  too  unstiddy  to  shave  himself." 

The  colonel  breathed  short  and  fast,  his  face  beaded  again 
with  cold  sweat.  Archy  uttered  a  senile,  cackling  cough. 


A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE.  109 

"  Why  !  I'd  have  thought  'twas  old  Mr.  Bannington  him 
self,  if  I  didn't  know  !  "  murmured  the  housekeeper. 

"  Keep  still !  "  cried  Doctor  Biddikin.  "  I  must  get  this 
communication  !  'Dear  father  !  '  He  were  a  very  affection 
ate  son  :  colonel,  he  has  rapped  out  '  dear  father !  ' 

"  I  am  with  you  always,"  said  the  raps. 

"0  Mr.  Murk  !"  exclaimed  the  afflicted  parent,  "that 
is  my  son,  —  that  is  my  son  !  He  were  a  very  dutiful  boy.  0 
Mr.  Murk,  if  you  could  only  have  known  my  son  Madi 
son  !  " 

"  I  think  I  see  him  now,"  said  Mr.  Murk,  staring  at  the 
blank  air.  "  Was  he  a  tall,  strong  young  man  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  son  !  You  describe  him  better  than  I  could 
myself.  Colonel  —  Colonel  Bannington,  Mr.  Murk  can  see 
the  spirit  of  my  boy  !  " 

"  He  puts  his  arms  around  your  neck,"  said  Mr.  Murk. 

"  I  think  I  can  feel  them  !  —  I  feel  his  arms  distinctly  !  " 
And  the  ardent  father  opened  his  own  to  clasp  the  filial 
shade. 

"  He  wears  a  pea-jacket  and  sailor's  trousers,"  remarked 
the  matter-of-fact  Mr.  Murk.  "  He  kisses  you  on  your  right 
cheek." 

"He  were  always  such  an  affectionate  boy!  I  feel  his 
kiss!  "  and,  weeping,  the  parent  kissed  back.  "He  were 
wild,  you  know,  colonel,  but  so  affectionate  at  heart !  Can't 
you  speak  to  me,  my  son  ?  " 

"There  he  is  ! — in  the  door!"  faintly  screamed  Mrs. 
Burble. 


110  A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE. 

And,  starting  up,  she  pointed  at  the  apparition  of  a  tall, 
sunburnt,  swaggering  young  man,  entering,  not  in  ghostly 
pea-jacket  and  spiritual  trousers,  but  in  clothes  of  unmis 
takable  mundane  fabric,  coarse  and  ragged  and  soiled,  and 
covering  stout  limbs  of  actual  flesh  and  blood. 

"  Madison !  "  gasped  out  the  little  doctor,  uncertain  at 
first  whether  he  saw  his  son  in  the  flesh  or  in  the  spirit. 

"  Hello,  dad  !  "  the  dutiful  youth  responded,  entering  with 
a  reckless  air.  "  What's  the  row  ?  " 

"Madison!"  ejaculated  the  parent,  "what  does  this 
mean?  Where  have  you  been?" 

"Lying  around  loose,  here  and  there,"  answered  the  affec 
tionate  boy.  "  I  saw  the  old  chaise  and  Pitman's  white 
crow-bait  as  I  was  going  by,  and  thought  I'd  get  a  lift  up 
the  hill.  Le'  go  my  collar  !  "  And  he  put  his  father  from 
him  as  a  giant  would  a  pygmy. 

"I'll  have  none  of  your  insolence!  Come  along  with 
me!"  And  Biddikin  flew  round  to  find  his  hat. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  splutter,  you  little  old  burnt-out  tallow- 
candle  ! "  said  the  youth,  his  chin  on  one  side,  and  one  eye 
half-closed  with  a  malign  expression.  "How  are  you,  Colo 
nel  Bannington?" 

The  colonel  was  himself  again. 

"We've  had  the  cursedest  hocus-pocus!  —  been  getting 
communications  from  your  ghost  for  the  last  half-hour,"  said 
the  colonel. 

"  The  devil  you  have !  "  said  Madison. 


A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE.  HI 

"You  came  from  the  seventh. sphere,  and  rapped;  and 
Mr.  Murk,  here,  saw  you  ;  and  your  father  felt  your  arms  on 
his  neck !  " 

"  Oh,  gas  !  "  laughed  the  youth,  with  his  tongue  in  his 
cheek. 

"It  is  easily  explained,"  observed  Mr.  Murk,  stoical  and 
dry  as  ever.  "A  mischievous  spirit  has  been  deceiving  us. 
He  has  gone  to  Archy :  I  think  he  will  give  his  name." 

The  words  had  scarcely  parted  from  his  lips,  when  Archy 
rushed  to  the  table,  and,  seizing  a  pencil,  struck  it  across  a 
sheet  of  paper  with  a  sort  of  zig-zag  jerk.  Ann  Maria, 
taking  the  paper,  held  it  up,  and  read,  — 

"  '  Joe  Prince  /  '  "  written  in  a  bold,  rapid  hand.  "  Jest 
like  Joe  Prince  to  come  and  fool  us  so  !  " 

" Precisely ! "  said  the  colonel :  "only  Joe  Prince  happens 
to  be  alive.  Squire  Pelt  had  a  letter  from  him  yesterday. 
Lot  me  tell  you,  all  this  is  humbug  !  What  isn't  trickery 
is  mesmerism,  and  what  isn't  mesmerism  is  imagination. 
Rhody  Burble,  you'd  better  attend  to  your  housekeeping  in 
future.  Doctor  Biddikin,  you've  got  your  buried  treasure  to 
look  after ;  that's  enough  for  one  cracked  brain  :  you'd  bet 
ter  let  the  spirits  alone.  As  for  you,  Mr.  Murk,  philan 
thropist  !  "  —  lashing  himself  into  a  fury  as  he  proceeded,  — 
"  I  believe  you  are  a  villain,  with  your  bobbing  fist  and  your 
Swedenborg !  —  and,  if  ever  I  see  you  coming  to  my  house 
again  after  mediums,  I'll  make  a  target  of  that  big  nose  of 
yours,  —  I  swear  by  the  Almighty !  Madison,  carry  your 


112  A    SPIRITUAL    CIRCLE. 

father  home,  and  keep  him :  he's  in  his  dotage.  Aaron, 
come  in,  and  put  a  stop  to  this  deviltry  !  " 

Burly,  bearded,  black,  Aaron  Burble  darkened  the  door 
way,  frowning  at  the  evidences  of  a  circle.  His  wife  flew  to 
the  kitchen  for  refuge,  followed  by  Ann  Maria.  Archy  came 
out  of  his  trance,  and  shrunk  sheepishly  away.  Biddikin 
found  his  hat,  and  thrust  his  head  into  it;  while  Madison 
stood  with  his  cocked  on  one  side,  insolently  laughing. 

"  It  will,  perhaps,  be  expedient  for  us  to  withdraw  for  the 
present,"  Mr.  Murk  observed  philosophically.  "  It  has  been 
a  rather  edifying  season;  and  when  our  brother,  here,  has 
risen  above  the  sphere  of  passion  "  — 

"Aaron,  kill  that  scoundrel !  "  hissed  the  colonel. 

"If  Aaron  wishes  for  an  opportunity  to  do  so,  I  will 
remain,"  drawled  Mr.  Murk:  "otherwise  I  shall  depart." 
And,  as  Aaron  manifested  no  disposition  to  commit  man 
slaughter,  the  philanthropist  considered  himself  justified  in 
retiring. 

Doctor  Biddikin  was,  by  this  time,  half-way  down  the 
avenue,  calling  violently  to  Madison  to  "  Come  along !  " 
Mr.  Murk  followed ;  and  the  three,  getting  into  the  rickety 
old  chaise,  rode  away. 


ARCHY   LOSES    HIS    SITUATION.  113 


X. 

AECHT  LOSES  HIS  SITUATION. 

HE  colonel  was  carried  back  to  his  room,  his 
nerves  all  unstrung ;  the  raising  of  other  spirits 
having  caused  a  depression  of  his  own,  from 
which  it  took  him  three  days  to  recover. 

The  fourth  morning  was  fine.  He  resolved  to  enjoy  it ; 
and,  Aaron  having  got  him  into  the  garden,  Archy  was 
summoned. 

Archy,  sheepish  and  afraid,  meeting  his  employer  for  the 
first  time  since  the  occurrences  of  the  circle,  approached  with 
qualms  of  soul,  which  were  by  no  means  diminished  when  he 
felt  the  inclination  to  jerk  coming  on  again.  There  was 
something  about  the  colonel's  legs  that  "put  the  deuse  into 
him."  He  felt  an  awful  impulse  to  make  a  lunge  at  them, 
which  grew  stronger  and  stronger ;  while  his  power  of  re 
sistance  grew  weaker  and  weaker.  As  Sinbad's  ship  was 
wrecked  by  the  mountain  of  loadstone  that  drew  all  the  iron 
nails  out  of  it,  so  Archy  was  imperilled  by  those  legs;  in 
proximity  with  which,  all  the  faculties  that  bound  together 


114  AUCHY   LOSES    HIS    SITUATION". 

his  moral  timbers,  and  made  him  a  free  agent,  were  fast  loos 
ening. 

"  What  if  I  should  jerk  !"  he  exclaimed  within  himself. 
"  Oh,  my  gracious  !  I  shall  jerk  !  " 

"What  are  you  stopping  for?"  demanded  the  fierce 
colonel. 

11 1  —  I  —  nothin'!"  gasped  Archy  with  twitching  shoul 
ders,  and  an  increasing  tendency  to  pitch  into  the  colonel. 

Luckily  a  diversion  appeared,  in  the  shape  of  Squire  El- 
phaz,  who  was  riding  by.  Seeing  the  invalid,  he  dismounted, 
and  entered  the  garden.  Archy  was  glad  to  retreat,  and 
give  him  place. 

But  what  ailed  Elphaz  ?  His  step  was  unusually  nervous. 
His  eyes  kept  up  a  singularly  sharp  cross-fire  of  crafty 
glances  :  terribly  gristly  his  face  was.  But,  accosting  the 
colonel,  he  simmered  over,  as  his  manner  was,  with  frothy 
affability. 

"  Ha !  glad  to  see  you  look  so  well  and  cheerful,  colonel, 
after  your  little  annoyances." 

"  What  annoyances  ?  "  asked  Bannington  chillingly. 

"Ha!  well,  your  son  Guy  —  eloping  with —  Bless  my 
soul !  haven't  you  heard  ?  " 

"Guy  eloping!"  The  colonel's  astonishment  showed 
plainly  enough  that  nobody  had  hitherto  ventured  to  broach 
the  subject  in  his  presence.  "  What  in  "  — something  very 
profane  —  "do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  what  everybody  knows,  it  seems,  except  you. 


ARCHT   LOSES    HIS    SITUATION:  115 

Guy  has  gone  off  with  Ben  Arlyn's  daughter.  Pretty  girl, 
Lucy  Arlyn  !  Can't  blame  a  young  fellow  like  Guy ;  hey, 
colonel?" 

"  Pelt !  "  said  the  pale  invalid,  "  you're  joking !  " 

"  Haven't  you  really  heard,  though?"  cried  Elphaz.  "  I 
thought  you  was  joking  !  You've  been  as  much  out  of  this 
delightful  little  world  of  gossip  we  live  in  as  I  have.  I've 
been  off  on  business,  and  didn't  hear  of  the  elopement  till  I 
got  back  yesterday.  But  I  saw  the  happy  couple  in  Al 
bany,  walking  the  streets  arm  in  arm ;  loving  as  possible ! 
Thought  you'd  be  pleased  to  know." 

"Yes,  you  thought  I'd  be  pleased  to  know!"  said  the 
colonel  grimly.  "What  else?" 

"  Some  furniture  came  up  by  yesterday's  express,"  replied 
Pelt,  — "  sofa,  chairs,  bureau,  carpet,  and  so  forth,  addressed 
to  Jehiel.  I  met  him  this  morning.  '  Ha  ! '  says  I,  '  Jehiel, 
seems  we're  going  to  branch  out  a  little  :  got  some  new  furni 
ture,  have  we  ? '  You  should  have  seen  him  stare  !  for,  I 
vow,  'twas  the  first  he  had  heard  of  the  new  furniture. 
'  That  must  be  some  of  Guy's  doings ! '  says  he ;  and  off 
he  went  to  look  after  it." 

"Archy!"  cried  the  colonel,  "is  Jehiel  Hedge  at  tho 
barn?" 

"  Yes,  sir  :  he's  come  for  the  hoss  'n*  wagon." 
'     "Tell  him  I  want  him.  —  Are  they  married?  —  do  you 
know,  Pelt?" 

"  Ha,  ha !  if  they  are,  it's  a  pretty  match  !     Lucy  with- 


116  ARCH7    LOSES   HIS    SITUATION". 

out  a  cent  in  the  world ;  and  she  never  will  have  any  tiling, 
probably ;  Arlyn  won't  do  much  off  there  in  the  mines : 
and  Guy  —  you  know  best  about  Guy!"  said  Elphaz, 
highly  nervous,  pulling  to  pieces  a  rosebud. 

"  By  the  Maker  of  heaven  and  earth  !  "  began  the  colonel 
violently;  but  he  checked  himself.  "  Guy  ain't  a  fool:  he 
knows  what  he's  about.  —  Good  morning,  Jchiel !  "  —  to  a 
stout,  honest-faced  young  farmer,  whom  Archy  brought  into 
the  garden.  "  What  are  you  doing  with  the  wagon  ?  " 

"  There  are  some  things  at  the  depot  I  want  to  take 
home,"  replietl  Jehiel. 

"What  things?" 

"  Well,  it  looks  like  furniture." 

"  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  " 

Jehiel  appeared  embarrassed,  like  one  afraid  of  betraying 
a  secret,  but  finally  spoke  out,  — 

"  I  suppose  Guy  sent  it." 

"Suppose!"  snarled  the  colonel:  "don't  you  know? 
Hain't  he  told  you  any  thing  about  it?" 

"Not  much,"  said  Jehiel,  galled,  but  patient.  "  When 
I  found  the  things  had  come,  I  thought  he  must  have  writ 
ten  :  so  I  went  to  the  post-office,  and  got  a  letter  I  ought 
to've  got  yesterday." 

"Let  me  see  it !  " 

Jehiel  hesitated,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to  choke  the  colonel' 
or  obey  him.  On  reflection,  he  gave  the  letter. 

"Jehiel,"  it  said,  "you'll  find  some  stuff  at  the  depot, 


ARCHY   LOSES    SIS    SITUATION.  117 

which  I  want  you  to  take  home  and  keep  till  I  come.  Con 
fidentially,  Guy." 

"  It  seems  it's  a  confidential  note,"  remarked  the  colonel 
icily,  handing  it  back. 

"  Seems  so,"  said  Jehiel. 

"  Then  what  did  you  show  it  to  me  for  ?  " 

"  Because  —  you  asked  for  it." 

"And  because  you  are  a  blockhead.  Learn  to  do  busi 
ness  better  than  that.  Take  the  wagon,  and  get  the  furni 
ture  :  it's  none  of  my  business." 

The  colonel  turned  coldly  to  Elphaz ;  while  Jehiel  looked 
as  if  he  certainly  would  have  throttled  him  if  he  hadn't  been 
a  sick  man. 

"  He's  a  faithful  fellow,"  said  the  colonel,  after  he  was 
gone,  "and  as  devoted  to  Guy  as  a  puppy.  I  guess  I 
aggravated  him  a  little." 

"  You  made  me  laugh  !  "  chuckled  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes,  you  enjoyed  it !  "  retorted  Bannington,  regarding 
him  with  utter  contempt.  "  There's  one  mean  trait  in  human 
nature,  Pelt.  I've  got  it,  and  you're  chock-full  of  it." 

"  I  ?  —  ha  !  —  what  trait  ?  "  grimaced  Elphaz. 

"  That  which  makes  an  ill-natured  man  like  to  vent  his 
spite  on  any  one  he  can,  —  as  you  have  come  to  throw  a  little 
of  your  venom  on  me  !  " 

The  lawyer's  metallic  voice  chinked  with  a  hard,  forced 
laugh. 

"  You're  awful  sharp,  colonel !  But  why  should  I  feel 
venom?  " 


118         ARCHY  LOSES  nis  SITUATION. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?     Maybe  you  wanted  Lucy  yourself." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  said  Pelt,  resolutely  merry,  though  you  could 
see  that  he  writhed  inwardly;  while  impish  little  glances 
darted  hurriedly  from  eye  to  eye,  as  if  afraid  of  being  de 
tected  on  the  nasal  transit.  "  I  marry  Lucy?  That's  a  good 
joke  ! " 

"You'll  be  sorry  it  wasn't  something  besides  a  joke,  if 
Arlyn  happens  to  make  a  fortune  in  California,"  said  Ban- 
nington ;  "  unless  you  can  manage  to  get  the  fortune  without 
the  daughter,"  he  added  sarcastically. 

A  flash  of  pallor  streaked  up  the  gristly  face,  rendering 
the  persistent  grin  that  was  there  curious  to  behold. 

"  Deused  sharp  you  are,  colonel,  I  vow  !  Folks  say 
you've  got  to  be  a  medium ;  and  that  accounts  for  it !  " 

"  Folks  say  —  I  —  a  medium  ?  " 

Pelt,  perceiving  that,  in  the  mutual  exercise  of  the  "  trait 
in  human  nature  "  alluded  to,  he  had  got  a  momentary  ad 
vantage,  made  the  most  of  it;  then  fled,  making  the  rest 
lessness  of  his  horse  an  excuse  for  running  to  him,  and  so 
avoiding  the  colonel's  vengeance. 

"  Archy  !  "     Archy  came.     "  Forward  !  " 

Archy  obeyed ;  but  he  felt  himself  drawn  in  by  the 
magnetism  of  the  legs  once  more,  and  the  power  to  push 
was  leaving  him. 

"  What  are  you  shaking  the  chair  for  ?  If  ever  I  hear  of 
your  being  a  medium  again  "  — 

The  colonel's  tongue  was  stopped  by  a  sudden  resounding 


ARCHY   LOSES    HIS    SITUATION.  119 

blow.  It  took  him  on  his  left  ear  like  a  missile  ;  displacing 
his  hat,  and  ruffling  his  hair  and  his  temper. 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  he  cried,  looking  around  with  fiery 
rage. 

"I  don't  know!"  articulated  Archy,  with  jerks  that 
betrayed  him. 

"It  was  you,  you  villain!" 

"  No,  'twan't !  I  couldn't  help  it !  Oh,  gosh  !  they've 
got  hold  of  me  agin  !  " 

Quick  as  lightning  came  a  sharp  cuff  on  the  other  ear. 
The  colonel  was  stunned  for  an  instant.  Archy  did  not  stay 
for  him  to  recover,  but  fled  from  the  wrath  to  come.  When 
the  colonel,  struggling  up  again,  turned  to  hurl  his  cane  at 
the  offender,  he  saw  him  already  at  a  distance,  making  dis 
astrous  leaps  across  the  flower-beds. 

"  What's  the  trouble  here  ?  "  cried  a  third  voice,  clear  and 
stern ;  and  Guy  appeared,  hurriedly  entering  the  garden. 

Bannington  took  no  heed  of  the  new-comer,  but,  leaning 
over  his  chair,  shook  his  fist  frantically  at  the  widow's  son. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it !  I  swanny,  I  couldn't !  "  protested 
Archy,  staying  his  flight  with  a  sense  of  reliance  on  Guy. 
"It's  the  sperits!" 

Guy  stood  between  astonishment  and  laughter,  and  de 
manded  an  explanation. 

"He  thinks  he's  a  medium!"  said  the  colonel,  panting 
with  passion.  "If  I  was  a  well  man,  I'd  horsewhip  the 
notion  out  of  him  mighty  quick !  Did  you  see  him  knock 
my  head?" 


120  AKCHY    LOSES    HIS    SITUATION. 

"  Come  here,  Archy!  "  said  Guy.  The  genius  drew  near. 
"  What  ails  you  ?" 

"Nothin',  now!" 

"  Pick  up  the  colonel's  hat,  and  ask  his  forgiveness." 

Archy  made  a  movement,  but  suddenly  drew  back. 

"  I  dasn't !  Jest  as  sure's  I  come  near  him,  the  sperits 
are  at  me  agin,  — jerk,  jerk  !  " 

"Then  you'd  better  take  your  hat,  and  go  home,"  said 
Guy.  tl  Do  you  owe  him  any  thing,  colonel  ?  " 

"Yes:  pay  him  off!  And,  if  he  ever  sets  foot  here 
again,  let  the  dogs  have  him  !" 

The  genius,  beginning  to  cry,  went  back  to  search  for  his 
hat  among  the  pansies,  where  it  had  dropped  in  his  flight. 

"  Stay  till  I  come  and  settle  with  you,  Archy."  And 
Guy  wheeled  the  colonel  into  the  house. 

But  Archy,  fearing  that  the  menace  of  the  dogs  was  to  be 
presently  executed,  seized  his  hat,  and,  without  waiting  for 
the  adjustment  of  his  accounts,  ran  away  like  a  deer. 

"Now,  colonel,"  said  Guy,  "drink  this,"  —  handing  a 
glass  of  wine,  —  "  and  tell  me  what  has  been  going  on." 

The  colonel  drank,  and  smacked  his  thin  lips. 

"  Is  that  according  to  Scripture  ?  "  he  asked,  glancing  up 
keenly  at  his  son.  "  Did  the  prodigal,  when  he  came  back, 
instead  of  confessing  his  sins,  call  on  the  old  man  to  give  an 
account  of  what  had  happened  in  his  absence  ?  " 

Guy  kept  his  countenance  well. 

"  If  you've  nothing  better  to  tell  than  I  have,  our  conver 
sation  won't  be  very  lively;  and  I'll  go  and  pay  Archy." 


ARCHY  LOSES    HIS    SITUATION.  121 

"Stay!  "  said  the  colonel. 

Distasteful  as  the  topic  was,  he  wished  to  forestall,  in  the 
mind  of  his  son,  all  other  reports  by  giving  his  own  version 
of  what  had  occurred  at  the  "  sitting."  He  instinctively 
aimed  also  to  inspire  Guy  with  his  own  prejudices.  Guy 
listened  with  profound  interest ;  but  the  effect  on  him  was 
not  quite  what  was  anticipated.  As  it  often  happens  that  the 
reluctant  admissions  of  those  who  denounce  a  cause  do  it 
better  service  than  the  bold  claims  of  its  friends ;  so  the 
marvels,  which,  had  they  been  related  by  a  credulous  person, 
would  merely  have  elicited  Guy's  contempt,  impressed  him 
powerfully,  coming  from  the  lips  of  so  violent  a  sceptic.  He 
was  eager  to  learn  every  minute  particular,  and  wearied  his 
father  with  questions. 

"  And  you  can  find,"  he  said,  "no  satisfactory  explana 
tion  for  these  wonders  !  " 

"  Do  you  expect,"  retorted  his  father,  "that  a  man  will 
see  through  every  trick  a  juggler  performs  ?  " 

"What!"  exclaimed  Guy,  "are  we  to  set  down  little 
Ann  Maria,  and  poor,  simple  Archy  Bramble,  as  such  con 
summate  jugglers  ?  " 

"  Set  'em  down  for  what  you  please  !  "  was  tho  colonel's 
easy  solution  of  the  difficulty.  "  Jugglery  or  mesmerism,  or 
even  spirits,  —  or  all  three  together,  —  I  don't  care  what  it 
is  !  I've  seen  enough  of  it.  Don't  mention  the  .subject 
again.  Send  Archy  off,  and  find  somebody  to  take  his  place. 
If  you  get  a  medium,  I'll  kill  him  !  " 


122  ARCHY   LOSES    HIS    SITUATION". 

Afraid  of  being  questioned  in  his  turn,  Guy  hastened 
away,  his  countenance  all  alive  with  late  experiences,  — 
whether  of  love  and  joy,  or  of  love  and  grief,  one  could 
hardly  have  discovered.  Not  seeing  Archy  in  the  garden, 
he  walked  about,  plucking  a  few  flowers,  gazing  at  the  shim 
mering  waters  of  the  fountain,  and  listening  to  its  plashy 
music ;  then  went  to  consult  Mrs.  Burble  in  the  kitchen. 

"What  do  you  say,  colonel,  to  young  Biddikin?"  he 
asked,  returning  to  the  library. 

"That  rascal?" 

"  Yes.  Rhoda  thinks  he  would  do  :  only  she's  afraid  you 
couldn't  manage  him  very  well." 

That  touched  the  Bannington  pride. 

"I  couldn't  manage  him?  I'd  like  to  see  the  fellow  I 
couldn't  manage  !  provided  "  —  scowling  at  the  reminiscence 
of  Archy —  "  'taiii't  a  thundering  medium  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  Mad  has  any  infirmity  of  that  kind.  If 
you  say  so,  I'll  go  and  see  him  this  afternoon." 

The  colonel  assented ;  and  accordingly,  after  dinner,  Guy 
loosed  his  dogs,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away. 


THE     SEERESS.  123 


XL 

THE  SEERESS. 

T  the  door  of  a  desolate-looking  wood-colored 
house,  under  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  Guy 
drew  rein,  and  asked  a  small  boy  in  rags,  sit 
ting  on  the  grass,  if  the  Biddikins  were  at  home.  The  boy 
jumped  up,  while  a  tame  crow  he  was  playing  with  flew  to 
the  low  eaves  of  the  dilapidated  porch. 

"  Y-a-a-s,"  he  drawled  with  a  scared  and  starved  expres 
sion. 

At  that  the  crow  began  to  hop  along  the  eaves,  and  chat 
ter,  "  Mad's  come  home  !  Laugh,  Jack  !  — ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Guy  dismounted,  and  was  met  at  the  door  by  Doctor 
Biddikin. 

"  Sh ! "  said  the  little  man  with  an  air  of  mystery. 
"We've  great  doings  here, — great  doings!  Don't  speak, 
but  come  in  !  " 

"  Is  Madison  "  —  began  Guy. 

But  the  doctor  checked  him :  his  skinny  fore-finger  was 
on  his  lips. 


124  THE     SEERESS. 

"Not  a  word!"  —  drawing  him  into  the  entry.  "I've 
five  ladies  and  gentlemen  here  to  see  me," — he  reached  to 
close  the  door  :  "you  make  the  sixth."  And  in  darted  the 
crow  after  them,  as  if  to  make  the  seventh. 

"  Good  luck  for  Jack  !  Laugh,  Jack  !  —  ha,  ha  !  " 
screamed  the  bird. 

"  I  declare  !  I  didn't  mean  to  let  that  creature  in  !  He 
plagues  us  dreadfully  !  "  He  opened  the  door  again,  and  put 
his  head  out.  "Job!"  —  in  a  fierce  mutter,  not  designed 
for  the  visitor's  ears,  —  "why  didn't  you  take  care  of 
Jack?" 

"Couldn't;  got  away  from  me,"  answered  the  boy  out 
side,  in  feeble,  frightened  accents. 

The  doctor  left  the  door  open,  and  tried  to  drive  Jack  out. 
But  Jack  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  go.  He  flew  up  the 
staircase,  and  down  again  over  Biddikin's  head  as  he  went 
up  after  him.  Then  he  perched  on  a  half-open  door  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  entry,  and,  with  balancing  wings  and  bob 
bing  head,  looked  down  saucily  at  the  little  bald  pate  that 
came  up  stealthily  beneath  him. 

"  Biddikin  !  —  can't  come  in  !  — ha,  ha  !  "  And  he  flew 
to  the  banisters.  As  the  doctor  went  there  for  him,  he  re 
turned  to  his  perch  on  the  door,  chattering  all  the  while 
impishly. 

"Do  catch  that  creature  for  me!"  whispered  the  doctor, 
giving  up  in  despair. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! "  said   the   crow  as  Guy  stepped  towards 


THE     SEERESS.  125 

him.  "  Mad's  come  home!  —  ha,  ha!"  And,  as  Guy 
reached  up  to  catch  him,  he  made  a  dash  at  his  face  with 
his  glossy  black  wings,  darted  between  his  hands,  and  flew 
into  the  room  beyond. 

"  Shut  the  door  !  "  cried  Biddikin  eagerly.  Jack  was  in 
prison.  "  He  shall  stay  there  a  while.  He  has  be"en  un 
usually  saucy  since  Madison  came  home,  —  actually  blasphe 
mous.  How  do  you  account  for  that  ?  " 

"  Cats  and  dogs  often  catch  the  spirit  of  the  human  beings 
around  them,"  said  Guy;  "and  the  same  must  be  true  of 
other  pets." 

"  There  is  some  subtle  sympathy;  don't  you  think  there 
is  ?  That  crow  is  an  entirely  different  creature  when  Madi 
son  is  around!  —  But  come!"  said  the  doctor,  having  by 
this  time  tucked  up  again  under  his  cuffs  the  soiled  shirt- 
wristbands  which  had  become  disarranged  in  his  chase  after 
Jack.  And  feeling  to  assure  himself  that  his  threadbare 
coat  was  buttoned  well  across  his  throat,  to  conceal  any 
appearance  of  unpresentable  linen,  he  tripped  quickly,  and 
closed  the  front-door;  then  cautiously  opened  another  that 
led  into  a  side  room.  "I  sha'n't  introduce  you,"  he  whis 
pered  as  they  went  in. 

The  gloom  of  the  apartment,  the  silence,  and  the  sight  of  a 
dim,  solemn  company  seated  around  a  table,  made  Guy  feel 
as  if  he  was  interrupting  a  funeral.  He  attempted  to  retreat ; 
but  Biddikin  pulled  him  in,  and  gave  him  a  seat  on  a  bench 
in  a  corner. 


126  THE     SEERESS. 

It  was  a  large,  naked,  carpetless  room,  as  Guy  could  see, 
although  the  blinds  were  closed,  possibly  to  shut  out  the 
crow,  but  more  probably  to  exclude  the  daylight,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  disguise  the  broken  windows  and  the  penury 
they  ventilated.  His  eyes  soon  grew  familiar  with  the  ob 
scurity  ;  and  he  discerned,  looming  up  in  the  dimness  oppo 
site,  a  sturdy  nose,  which  could  belong  to  no  other  person  than 
the  philosopher  he  had  encountered  in  the  woods.  Next  him 
appeared  the  ghost  —  not  yet  disembodied  —  of  the  doctor's 
dutiful  and  affectionate  son.  On  the  other  side  of  the  promi 
nent  nasal  feature  sat  a  young  woman  with  a  large  forehead 
that  gleamed  pale  in  the  dusk.  Next  her  was  a  tall,  well- 
dressed,  highly  respectable-looking  gentleman,  with  a  bland 
white  forehead.  Biddikin  took  his  seat  with  a  corpulent 
middle-aged  man  (whom  Guy  recognized  as  a  neighbor  and 
a  deacon)  between  himself  and  his  son ;  thus  nearly  com 
pleting  the  circle.  There  were  still  two  chairs  between  the 
doctor  and  the  tall  gentleman,  —  one  vacant,  the  other  occu 
pied  by  a  young  lady  whose  face  Guy  could  not  see.  She 
was  petit  in  stature,  elegantly  dressed,  with  a  small,  fine 
head,  auburn  hair,  and  a  delicate  jewelled  hand,  that  played 
restlessly  with  a  pencil  over  a  sheet  of  paper.  The  com 
pany  seemed  waiting  for  her  to  speak;  when  the  silence 
was  broken  by  a  loud  outcry  on  the  part  of  Jack  in  his 
prison. 

"Jack's  mad  now,  —  hear  him!"  said  the  junior  Biddi 
kin  in  a  laughing  whisper. 


THE     SEERESS.  127 

"  Sh  !  "  hissed  the  senior,  frowning. 

"I  cannot  proceed  as  long  as  there  is  any  disturbance," 
remarked  the  young  lady  in  low,  quiet,  decided  tones. 

"  I'll  fix  him  !  "  said  Madison,  starting  for  the  door. 

"  Don't  you  hurt  him  !  —  don't  you  hurt  Jack  !  "  cried 
the  doctor,  hurrying  after  him. 

Guy  also  rose  to  go  out,  thinking  he  might  form  a  part  of 
the  disturbance  of  which  the  young  lady  complained. 

"  The  gentleman  will  please  remain,"  she  said  in  the  eame 
low,  decided  tone,  without  looking  round. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Biddikin. 

"  I  said  the  gentleman^  was  the  significant  response. 

"I  —  I  suppose  she  means  you,"  Said  the  doctor,  taking 
hold  of  Guy  with  both  hands,  and  pushing  him  back. 

"  This  seat  is  for  him,"  —  and  the  young  lady  indicated 
the  vacant  chair  at  her  side. 

"That  is  very  remarkable!"  said  Biddikin.  "When 
the  circle  were  formed,  she  said  another  were  to  come,  and 
reserved  that  chair." 

Guy,  surprised  at  all  this,  and  interested  to  see  what 
would  be  done,  seated  himself  between  the  young  lady  and 
Doctor  Biddikin. 

"You  remember,"  dryly  remarked  the  individual  with  the 
nose  opposite,  "  I  predicted  that  you  had  something  to  do 
with  this  matter," — fixing  his  eyes  with  a  mystical  squint 
and  a  sapient  grimace  on  Guy.  "See  there!"  —  his  fist 
began  to  wag,  —  "  Swedenborg  recognizes  you  !  " 


128  THE    SEEItESS. 

"  What ! "  whispered  Biddikin,  "do  you  know  Mr.  Murk, 
the  philanthropist?" 

"  We  have  been  a-fishing  together,"  answered  Guy. 

After  a  wild  clamor  in  the  kitchen,  proclaiming  that  the 
bird  had  come  to  grief,  a  door  was  suddenly  slainmed,  shut 
ting  out  the  sound ;  and  Madison,  with  a  black  quill  stuck 
recklessly  in  his  hair,  returned  to  his  place  in  the  circle. 

Guy,  almost  from  the  moment  of  his  entrance,  had  felt 
stealing  over  him  an  indescribable  magnetic  influence,  which 
impressed  him  still  more  powerfully  in  his  new  position. 
It  seemed  to  surround  him  like  a  fine,  invisible,  soothing, 
almost  stupefying  mist.  Soon  a  tingling  sensation  ran  elec 
trically  clown  his  arm,  and  he  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  place 
his  hand  on  the  young  lady's.  It  was  not  until  after  this  that 
he  turned  his  face,  and  saw  hers,  or  perhaps  the  impulse 
might  have  been  easily  accounted  for. 

She  was  not  more  than  twenty  years  of  age,  —  a  pale 
blonde,  with  very  singular  features,  irregular,  and  certainly 
not  handsome,  but  full  of  refinement  and  fascination.  When 
Guy  first  observed  her,  she  wore  a  decided  air  of  disdain  and 
impatience,  as  if  she  did  not  sit  willingly  in  the  company 
which  was  manifestly  disagreeable  to  her.  Her  eyes  were 
downcast,  and  Guy  could  not  perceive  that  she  once  glanced 
at  him.  For  some  time,  her  hand  continued  to  play  with  the 
pencil  it  held ;  but  at  length  it  was  drawn  towards  her,  and 
folded  with  its  fellow  near  her  bosom  :  her  eyes  closed  grad 
ually  ;  while  the  expression  of  hauteur  softened,  and  finally 


THE    SEERESS.  129 

gave  place  to  a  cold,  pallid  fixedness  of  feature,  so  beautiful, 
yet  so  marble-like,  tliat  Guy,  as  he  looked  at  her,  shivered 
from  head  to  foot. 

"  The  first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  shall  be  first,"  she 
said  at  length  with  a  sublime  elevation  of  manner  blending 
with  a  certain  childlike  simplicity.  Theu,  breathing  deeply, 
her  head  drooping,  while  blissful  smiles  softly  irradiated  her 
countenance,  she  sat  silent  as  before. 

"I'm  anxious  to  know  what  that  means,"  said  Doctor 
Biddikin  after  a  long  pause. 

The  seeress  gave  a  light  start ;  while,  at  the  instant,  Guy 
felt  a  thrill  shoot  down  bis  arm. 

"The  circle  was  formed,"  she  then  said,  "lacking  one. 
"  It  is  now  complete.  The  first  shall  be  last,"  she  repeated, 
clearly,  solemnly,  deliberately,  "and  the  last  shall  be  first." 

From  that  moment,  Guy  saw  only  her  :  ignoring  Biddikin, 
forgetting  Murk,  oblivious  of  all  the  ridiculous  circumstances 
attending  the  occasion,  he  watched  her  changing  and  illu 
minated  features,  and  listened  to  her  silvery  voice. 

"lam  still  more  anxious  than  before,"  the  doctor  took 
advantage  of  another  pause  to  observe.  "It  is  evident  Mr. 
Bannington  came  last  into  the  circle  :  I  were  the  first  "  — 

The  seeress  started  to  her  feet,  stood  erect,  her  eyelids 
half  closed,  and  the  orbs  upturned  under  them  with  a  won 
derful  expression ;  and  raising  her  right  hand,  as  if  beck 
oning  down  an  invisible  choir,  laid  the  other  upon  Guy's 

head. 

o 


130  THE    SEERESS. 

"  Behold,"  she  uttered  softly,  "  your  lord  and  your 
king!" 

Never  in  his  life  had  Guy  experienced  any  thing  like  the 
deep,  devotional,  melting  emotion  which  these  words  and  the 
touch  of  that  light  hand  awakened  within  him.  Something 
descended  upon  him  like  a  cloud,  as  of  the  breath  of  angels. 
Pure,  passionless,  delicious,  dewy  thoughts  distilled  out  of  it, 
suffusing  his  whole  being.  He  bowed  his  head  involuntarily. 
It  seemed  like  a  consecration.  Strangely  enough,  he  was  not 
at  all  surprised  by  it,  but  accepted  it  as  something  for  which 
his  soul  had  waited  long. 

"  He  is  the  head,"  the  seeress  added  after  a  pause  of  pro 
found  silence ;  brief,  if  measured  by  moments,  but  deeper 
than  time  to  the  soul  within  which  eternity  seemed  then  to 
open.  She  laid  both  hands  upon  him  as  she  spoke,  then 
spread  them  towards  the  circle.  "  Ye  are  the  members  : 
follow  him." 

She  sat  down.  The  little  doctor,  in  great  excitement, 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"He  the  head?  And  I  —  I  want  to  know  what  is  to 
become  of  me  !  " 

The  seeress,  with  a  mere  movement  of  her  hand,  waved 
him  down. 

"  He  who  enters  upon  this  work  for  the  sake  of  riches  or 
reward  shall  be  confounded  !  "  were  the  words  of  her  re 
sponse,  prophetic,  impressive,  to  be  remembered  long  after, 
in  days  of  tribulation.  "  Self-seeking  has  no  place  here. 


THE     SEERESS.  131 

To  possess  yourselves  of  the  treasure  that  awaits  you  in  its 
coffers  of  rock  is  not  the  end,  but  a  step  towards  the  end. 
A  great  work  for  humanity  is  to  be  accomplished.  For  this 
the  treasure  has  been  long  provided  and  preserved ;  and  to 
this  purpose  it  must  be  sacredly  applied." 

Mr.  Murk  gave  a  slow,  solemn,  sleepy,  satisfied  nod  ;  but 
Doctor  Biddikin  rubbed  his  husky  hands  with  irrepressible 
nervousness. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Mr.  Murk  !  The  treasure  is 
mine  yet :  I've  signed  no  papers.  I  may  have  something 
to  say !  After  all  the  toil  and  anxiety  it  has  cost  me,  — 
years  of  suffering,  —  I  can't  see  others  step  in  and  reap  the 
benefits,  while  I  am  left  to  starve :  do  you  think  I  can, 
Deacon  Pitman?" 

"I  see  no  other  way  but  to  follow  the  directions  of  the 
spirits,"  said  the  earnest  deacon. 

"  We  are  all  instruments,"  Mr.  Murk  added  :  "I  myself 
am  only  an  instrument," — great  as  I  am,  his  manner 
seemed  to  say ;  while  Swedenborg  corroborated  his  remark  by 
the  usual  manifestation. 

Guy  was  annoyed :  but  he  felt  no  inclination  to  laugh ; 
having  determined,  from  the  first,  to  suffer  no  exhibition  of 
folly  or  fanaticism  to  divert  his  mind  from  whatever  truth 
might  be  masked  beneath  it. 

"  He  who  calls  himself  the  owner  of  the  treasure,"  the 
seeress  resumed,  ' '  has  claims  which  shall  not  be  overlooked. 
But  this  is  the  cause  of  humanity,  of  social  redemption ;  and 


132  THE     SEERESS. 

personal  interest  must  not  be  allowed  for  an  instant  to  stand 
in  its  way.  Six  individuals,  of  ample  means,  must  unite 
to  set  the  stone  rolling,  which,  once  put  in  motion,  will  of 
itself  possess  an  impetus  sufficient  to  carry  an  institution 
along  with  it,  and  to  crush  in  its  progress  the  gigantic  evils 
of  the  world.  Two  of  the  six  are  here  present, — you  and 
you,"  —  the  jewelled  hand  indicating  the  tall  gentleman 
and  the  flushed  deacon. 

"  You'll  be  bled,  old  coveys  !  "  chuckled  Madison. 

"What  is  to  be  expected  of  us?"  asked  the  deacon  in 
quick  pecuniary  alarm. 

"  Each  shall  subscribe  one  thousand  dollars  to  assist  in  the 
work,"  answered  the  oracle. 

"  What !  " —  and  all  the  solid  mass  of  the  deacon's  flesh 
appeared  agitated,  —  "is  it  going  to  be  BO  expensive  as 
that?" 

"A  fund  of  six  thousand  dollars,"  the  seeress  answered, 
"  can  be  easily  secured.  Whatever  portion  of  it  is  necessary 
to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  work  will  bo  returned  with 
interest  to  the  subscribers,  when  the  large  treasure,  to  which 
this  is  but  the  key,  shall  be  rendered  available." 

"An  excellent  plan!  very  rational  indeed!"  cried  the 
little  doctor,  quickly  consoled  by  the  prospect  of  such  golden 
rain  in  the  empty  cistern,  where  his  hopes,  surviving  stagna 
tion  and  drought,  began  to  sing  like  frogs  before  a  shower. 
"What  do  you  say,  gentlemen?" 

Mr.  Murk  nodded,  and  thwacked  his  breast,  to  show  that 


THE     SEERESS.  133 

both  he  and  Swedenborg  approved;  the  tall  gentleman 
looked  intelligent  and  bland,  but  discreetly  said  nothing; 
•while  the  deacon's  sweaty  visage  betrayed  that  the  spirit  had 
to  wrestle  hard  with  him  for  the  lucre. 

"  The  six  subscribers,"  continued  the  seeress,  "  shall  con 
stitute  a  board  of  directors.  The  chosen  spiritual  head  "  — 
designating  Guy  —  "shall  be  the  chief  of  the  association. 
The  energy  and  executive  ability  which  he  will  devote  to  it 
are  necessary  to  insure  early  success.  But  what  is  chiefly 
important  in  this,  to  him  and  to  the  world,  is  the  experience 
of  government  which  he  must  gain  in  small  things  in  order  to 
fit  himself  for  the  more  glorious  sphere  of  power  to  which  he 
is  destined." 

Guy  could  not  repress  an  incredulous  smile.  She  pro 
ceeded  to  answer  the  thoughts  that  prompted  it,  though  he 
did  not  speak,  and  though  she,  as  from  the  first,  did  not  raise 
her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  Let  him  not  despise  the  manger  in  which  Truth  is  born. 
Let  his  clear  eye  see  deeper  than  the  mean  swaddling-clothes 
in  which  it  is  wrapped.  And  as  for  himself,  let  not  his  scep 
ticism  smile  at  the  contrast  between  what  his  life  has  been  and 
what  it  is  henceforth  ordained  to  be.  The  freedom  and  wild- 
ness  of  his  youth  have  been  needful  to  give  power  and  inspi 
ration  to  his  prime.  He  is  a  child  of  nature,  not  a  creature 
of  conventionality.  The  uses  of  many  things,  the  meaning 
of  many  things,  which  have  strangely  shaped  his  life  and  agi 
tated  his  soul,  he  will  now  understand." 


134  THE    SEERESS. 

She  paused.  During  the  previous  practical  discussion,  the 
influences  which  had  overshadowed  Guy  were  partially  dissi 
pated  ;  but  now  they  thickened  upon  him  again,  and  suddenly 
thoughts  of  his  mother  fell  like  a  warm  rain  upon  his  heart. 
The  seeress  breathed  deeply  at  intervals,  and  her  brow  grew 
radiant. 

"  As  the  treasure  which  is  to  be  sought  lies  buried  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountain,  so  in  his  bosom  are  hidden  divine  in 
stincts,  of  which  he  is  himself  but  vaguely  conscious.  The 
rocks  of  circumstance  have  fallen  upon  them ;  the  briers  and 
brambles  of  youth  have  grown  over  them.  But  those  heaven 
ly  riches  have  been  guarded  by  angels."  Her  voice  grew  won 
derfully  soft  and  winning.  "  Angel-whispers  have  often,  in 
his  deep  moments,  been  breathed  into  his  spirit.  Blind 
yearnings  after  an  unknown  good,  vast  and  undefined  aspira 
tions,  have  alternated  with  emotions  of  despair  at  what  he  has 
deemed  his  purposeless  life.  But  now  clear  voices  shall 
be  heard  comforting  and  directing  him ;  the  rocks  shall  be 
removed,  and  the  precious  instincts  they  conceal  shall  be 
brought  forth  from  darkness  into  light,  blessing  him,  and  bene 
fiting  the  world." 

The  inspired  manner  and  tones  of  voice ;  the  sweet  con 
viction  of  reality  with  which  she  spoke  of  spiritual  beings 
watching  over  him  ;  and,  more  than  all  this,  the  words  that 
described  to  himself  the  inward  struggles  which  he  supposed 
were  known  only  to  himself  and  his  God,  —  every  thing 
must  be  considered,  if  we  attempt  to  account  for  the  effect 


THE     SEEKESS.  135 

produced  on  Guy ;  and  yet  all  will  seem  inadequate  if  we 
forget  the  magnetic  influences  which  surrounded  him.  He 
yearned  then  and  there  to  sink  upon  his  knees,  and  pray  as 
he  had  not  often  prayed  in  his  undevout  career.  But  quickly 
the  question  arose  in  his  mind,  "  How  do  I  know  but  it  is  all 
delusion?" 

Instantly  the  seeress  responded  to  his  thought. 

"  Let  him  neither  accept  nor  deny  his  mission  until  what 
he  has  this  day  seen  and  heard  has  sunk  deep  into  his  heart. 
In  the  mean  time,  he  requires  some  tangible,  undoubted  proof 
that  there  is  reality  in  these  things."  Indescribably  tender 
and  beautiful  smiles  flashed  up  the  Pythian  features  as  she 
added,  "  Proof  shall  be  given." 

She  took  the  pencil,  and,  with  eyes  still  closed,  traced 
rapidly  a  bold  wavy  line  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  The  pencil 
flew  from  her  hand,  and  the  paper  was  pushed  towards  Guy. 
He  took  it,  and,  holding  it  in  the  usual  position  for  reading  a 
line  of  writing,  saw  only  an  irregular  scrawl.  But,  instantly 
perceiving  that  it  was  not  writing,  —  that  it  was  the  outline  of 
a  human  face,  —  he  held  it  upright,  and  gazed  at  it  long ; 
gradually  drawing  the  paper  closer,  to  hide  the  emotions  of 
his  features.  And  this  was  Guy,  the  proud,  the  gay,  the  reck 
less,  —  sportsman,  sceptic,  scoffer  !  —  overpowered  to  tears 
—  by  what? 


136  AXCHT'S     SUBSTITUTE. 


xn. 

ARCHY'S   SUBSTITUTE. 

HEX  he  recovered  himself,  the  seeress  had  come 
out  of  her  trance,  and  the  circle  was  dissolved. 

The  men  crowded  around  him  to  see  what  won 
derful  "test"  he  had  received.  But  he  folded  the  paper 
carefully ;  it  was  for  no  eyes  but  his  own :  and,  making  his 
way  through  the  group,  he  approached  the  seeress. 

She  had  thrown  open  a  blind,  and  stood  tying  her  bonnet 
at  the  end  of  the  room.  Something  had  seemed  to  vanish 
magically  as  the  daylight  streamed  in.  The  walls  and  floor, 
and  the  faces  of  the  people  present,  wore  no  longer  any  hue 
of  illusion,  but  looked  bare  and  gray  in  the  unromantic  light. 
Mr.  Murk's  nose  resembled  more  than  ever  a  great  lump  of 
putty.  The  fat  deacon's  features  appeared  in  all  their  native 
grossness.  The  large  white-gleaming  forehead  of  the  silent 
female  showed  now  an  unwholesome  bluish  tinge,  where  the 
hair  had  been  shaved  from  its  summit  to  make  it  look  bold 
and  intellectual.  A  sort  of  mystery  still  hung  about  the  tall 
gentleman,  who  appeared  like  some  splendid  personage  in  dis- 


ARCHY'S    SUBSTITUTE.  137 

guise  ;  his  mild  eyes  and  cautious  lips  smiling  the  intelligence 
which  he  did  not  care  to  speak. 

But  Guy  watched  the  countenance  of  the  seeress.  It  was 
still  a  fine  and  striking  face,  which  could  well  brave  the  test 
of  daylight.  But  the  spiritual  radiance  had  left  the  brow  ; 
the  sweet,  ecstatic  expression  of  the  mouth,  the  almost  saintly 
aspect  of  the  eyes,  had  vanished.  A  pale,  cold,  nervous  little 
woman  stood  before  him,  tying  her  bonnet  Doctor  Biddikin 
introduced  him. 

"Did  we  never  meet  before?"  Guy  asked,  feeling  that 
she  must  be  well  acquainted  with  his  history. 

She  regarded  him  with  provoking  indifference.  "  I  never 
saw  you  till  this  moment,  sir,  nor  heard  your  name  till  just 
now." 

"  And  you  knew  nothing  of  me  until  I  entered  this 
room?" 

*'  Absolutely  nothing,  sir,"  —  busy  with  her  gloves. 

"And  you  never  met  any  member  of  my  family?"  he 
continued  with  a  graciousness  of  manner  which  no  coldness 
on  her  part  could  disturb. 

"  Never  to  my  knowledge,  sir.     Any  thing  else  ?  " 

Guy  was  piqued,  not  being  accustomed  to  such  treatment 
from  young  ladies  of  any  susceptibility. 

"I  suppose,"  said  he,  "  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
statements  you  have  kindly  condescended  to  make;  but  I 
have  been  so  much  astonished  by  what  I  have  witnessed,  that 
I  should  go  on  and  ask  a  great  many  more  questions,  if  I  did 
not  see  that  I  have  annoyed  you  sufficiently  already." 


1  :iS  ABCBY'8    SUBSTITUTE. 

"  You  have  not  annoyed  me  at  all,  sir."  And,  for  the  first 
time,  the  lady's  eyes,  clear  and  bright  blue,  flashed  up  frankly, 
alm<»t  l.-iuirliingly,  at  Guy.  She  appeared  to  him  at  that  mo 
ment  the  most  artful,  uncivil,  capricious,  tantalizing  woman 
he  ever  saw.  But  he  was  encouraged,  and  questioned  her 
with  regard  to  her  trance. 

*'  I  don't  know  much  more  about  it,"  said  she,  "  than  you 
do.  An  influence  comes  over  me  ;  and  all  I  have  to  do  is  to 
give  myself  up  to  it.  What  I  say  is  given  me,  sentence  by 
sentence,  and  word  by  word ;  so  that  I  never  know,  when  I 
begin,  what  is  to  follow.  The  influence  is  sometimes  very 
pleasant :  it  was  especially  so  to-day,  after  yon  came  into 
the  circle.  But "  —  she  shuddered,  and  her  brow  contracted 
into  a  frown —  "  the  atmosphere  of  this  house  —  don't  you 
feel  it?" 

"  Whut  about  the  atmosphere  of  this  house?  "  cried  Doc 
tor  Biddikiu,  pressing  forward,  smirking  politely,  thumbs  and 
little  fingers  together. 

"  The  magnetisms  of  the  people  who  have  lived  here  are 
insufferable,*'  she  answered  with  the  previous  air  of  impatient 
disdain. 

"  There  have  been  some  very  singular  people  in  this  house, 
very  singular,"  said  the  doctor  in  some  confusion. 

' '  Did  any  one  ever  die  a  strange,  unnatural  death  in  this 
room?"  she  asked. 

"  Did  any  one  —  in  this  room  — an  unnatural "  — articu 
lated  Biddikin,  his  features  changing  to  a  ghastly  sallow  hue, 


ARCBY'8    SUBSTITUTE.  139 

but  still  smirking.  "  That  were  a  very  remarkable  ques 
tion  !  "  he  hurriedly  added,  his  matched  fingers  shaking  them 
selves  asunder.  "  There's  been  strange  deaths  in  this  house, 
—  you  know  that,  Deacon  Pitman!  —  Madison!"  turning 
sharply  on  the  junior,  "  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Ah !  "  aspirated  Madison,  his  suspicious  forefinger  point 
ing  at  his  father  with  a  wicked  leer  in  his  eye,  "  there's 
been  deaths,  Deacon  Pitman  and  I  know;  only  we  don't ! " 
he  added  between  his  teeth. 

"What!  are  you  going?"  cried  Biddikin.  "I  —  I 
nearly  forgot  myself.  When  shall  we  have  another  meeting  ? 
The  sooner  wo  begin  operations,  the  better,  I  suppose." 

"  Brother  Murk  and  Sister  Lingham  are  going  home  with 
me,"  said  the  deacon.  "  We  shall  be  ready  most  any  time 
for  another  setting." 

"  I  am  impressed,"  said  Mr.  Murk,  wagging  the  Sweden- 
bofgian  arm,  "that  the  medium  will  appoint  a  time"  — 
thwack,  thwack  !  "  What  does  the  sister  say  ?  " 

"  I  can  make  no  appointment  for  myself,"  replied  the 
seeress.  "  If  necessary,  we  shall  be  brought  together  again. 
Come  !  "  And  she  took  the  arm  of  the  mysterious  gentle 
man,  turning  impatiently  to  go. 

"  Madison !  "  cried  the  bustling  little  doctor,  "  go  and 
untie  the  horse  for  them  !  Quick  !  " 

The  carriage  was  iu  the  rear  of  the  house.  The  seeress 
and  her  companion  got  into  it :  she  gave  not  even  a  parting 
look  to  Guy,  who  stood  watching  her  with  interest  as  they 
rode  away. 


140  ARCHY'S    SUBSTITUTE. 

li  That  little  woman,"  said  Madison,  re-entering,  "has  got 
a  devil  in  her  as  big  as  a  woodchuck." 

"  You've  got  one  in  you  as  big  as  your  skin  !  "  snapped 
his  father. 

"  Yes  :  none  of  the  little  dried-up  devils  such  as  your 
mummy-skin  holds,  but  as  live  a  devil  as  ever  you  see !  " 

"  'Ever  you  see' !  Can't  you  use  better  grammar  than 
that?" 

"  What  should  I  say  ?" 

11 '  Ever  you  sor,'  of  course." 

"Ever  you  For,  then!  —  if  that  makes  any  difference. 
I  tell  ye,  I  like  that  little  woman.  But  t'other  one,  with 
her  shaved  forehead,  —  bah  !  And  the  cutwater  that  Murk 
craft  carries  !  "  —  a  figure  of  speech  applied  to  the  philanthro 
pist's  nose,  which  was  just  then  dividing  the  air  between  Miss 
Lingham  and  the  deacon,  as  the  three  walked  down  the  road. 
"  I  shall  run  afoul  of  that  some  time  !  I  shall  get  it  in  my 
fist,  and  twist  it  hard,  I  know  I  shall !  "  And  Madison 
laughed  maliciously. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  such  talk  from  any  sane  being?  "  the 
senior  Biddikin  appealed  to  Guy.  "  He  don't  know  half 
the  time  what  he  is  saying,  —  not  half!  " 

"  Look  a  here  !  "  returned  the  junior,  "you  half-pint  of 
culer,  —  sour  at  that !  — ye'll  get  spilt  over  if  ye  don't  take 
ca-a-re !  " 

"  Hear  that?  "  said  the  senior.  "  He  abuses  me  !  Ho 
shows  no  respect  to  his  venerable  father  !  " 


ARCHY'S    SUBSTITUTE.  \±\ 

"  Respect !  I've  no  more  respect  for  you  than  for  a  griddle- 
cake  the  cat  has  left!  "  spitting  contemptuous  tobacco-juice, 
and  sprawling  on  the  bench. 

"  See  that !  —  on  my  floor  ! "  ejaculated  the  doctor.  "  He 
chews  tobacco  !  "  —  with  immense  disgust. 

"  His  dander  is  up  at  what  I  said  of  deaths  in  this  house,'* 
sneered  the  son.  "  But  I  could  tell  a  thing  or  two  !  "  men 
acingly.  "  That  gal  made  one  good  hit,  if  she  never  did 
another." 

"I  —  ah!  —  don't  you  think,"  stammered  the  doctor, 
"  there's  a  great  deal  of  imposture  —  guess-work,  to  say  the 
least  —  with  these  mediums?  " 

"  What  she  said  was  law  and  gospel,  though,  till  she  made 
that  last  hit,"  said  Madison. 

"  Don't  mind  a  word  he  says,"  whispered  the  doctor.  "  I 
think  he's  a  little  insane :  don't  he  seem  so  to  you  ?  — 
Madison,  I  want  to  converse  with  Mr.  Bannington  alone  a 
few  minutes." 

"  Think  I'm  going  to  be  turned  out  of  doors  so  easy  as 
that,  you  last  year's  puff-ball !  "  replied  the  dutiful  Madi 
son. 

"  Insolent ! "  Biddikin  rushed  upon  him,  shaking  his  fist. 
"Quit  this  house  im-MEDIATELY !"  —  these  final  syl 
lables  being  capitalized  by  Madison's  boot,  which  was  sud 
denly  projected  against  the  paternal  diaphragm. 

"  For  shame,  for  shame  !  "  cried  Guy,  receiving  the  reel 
ing  doctor  in  his  arms. 


142  ARCHY'S    SUBSTITUTE. 

"  You  sor  it,  didn't  you?  "  gasped  Biddikin.  "  He  shall 
rue  that  kick,  he  shall  rue  that  kick !  "  he  exclaimed  furi 
ously;  then  began  to  groan.  "  Oh,  my  abdomen,  my  abdo 
men  !  "  —  nursing  the  afflicted  part  with  both  hands  piteously. 
"lie  has  done  me  some  internal  injury  !  "  —  faintly.  "  I 
am  dying  !  "  —  more  faintly.  "I  —  I  "  — 

Guy  eased  him  down  upon  a  chair  :  by  which  time  rage 
had  got  the  better  of  pain  ;  and,  springing  up,  he  flew  at  his 
dear  son  with  renewed  fury.  Guy  held  them  asunder,  while 
Madison  jeeringly  invited  his  progenitor  to  come  on. 

"  Shame,  shame  !  "  repeated  Guy.  "  Father  and  son  at 
blows ! " 

"  Dreadful,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  He  provokes  my 
life  out  of  me  !  What  do  you  advise  me  to  do ? " 

"  I  advise  you  two  to  live  as  far  apart  as  possible." 

"  Just  my  opinion  !     But  I  can't  get  rid  of  him." 

"  Can't?  .  You  won't  let  me  go  !  "  said  Madison  ;  "  or,  if 
I  do,  you're  crazy  as  a  loon  till  you  coax  me  back  again." 

"Try  it,  and  see  !" 

"  I  will ;  and  you  won't  catch  me  in  this  house  again." 

"  I  don't  wish  to,  if  you  can't  behave  yourself,"  said  Bid 
dikin,  softening  a  little  as  his  son  grew  earnest. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  work  somewhere,  Mad,  and  earn 
your  living?"  asked  Guy.  "You're  a  man  in  bone  and 
muscle  :  it's  time  you  were  beginning  to  show  yourself  a  man 
in  character.  I'd  do  any  thing,  if  I  were  you,  rather  than 
live  this  miserable  cat-and-dog  life." 


AXCffY'S    SUBSTITUTE.  143 

"  I  will :  I'll  find  a  place  somewhere." 

"Will  you  promise  to  behave  yourself  if  I  will  get  you 
one  ?  " 

"I  can  behave  myself  well  enough,  only  take  me  away 
from  that  dressed-up  mouldy  doughnut !  that  pine-knot  on 
pegs  !  that  pair  of  scissors  in  a  rag !  "  —  rhetorical  flourishes 
with  which  the  fanciful  junior  adorned  the  elder's  meagre 
anatomy.  "  Jest  gi'  me  something  to  do,  and  see  if  I  won't 
be  something  besides  the  loafer  you  think  I  am." 

"  That's  precisely  what  I  intend."  And  Guy  proposed 
the  situation  behind  the  colonel's  chair.  It  was  at  once 
accepted. 

"  I  object !  "  said  the  doctor,  short  and  sharp. 

Guy  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

• 

"Yes,  emphatically!  Don't  you  go  to  getting  away  my 
son!  He  sha'n't  go!  he  sha'n't  go!"  —  very  decidedly, 
shaking  his  head,  and  compressing  his  lips. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  roared  out  Madison  with  savage 
scorn. 

"  Pray,  doctor,  what  objection  can  you  have  ?  " 

"  It's  a  menial  occupation.  My  son  sha'n't  disgrace  him 
self  by  engaging  in  it.  Just  think  of  him,  heir  to  the  largest 
property,  probably,  in  the  State,  wheeling  a  sick  man's  chair ! 
It's  preposterous  !  I  forbid  it !  Madison,  don't  you  sign  any 
papers  with  regard  to  that  treasure.  There'll  be  half  a  dozen 
men  at  work  digging  again,  within  a  week,  under  the  direc 
tion  of  the  spirits ;  but  I  shall  retain  the  control  of  it.  Re- 


144  ARCHY'S' SUBSTITUTE. 

member  what  I  charge  you,  —  be  careful  how  you  write  your 
name  !  —  Mr.  Bannington,  can  you  accommodate  me  with  the 
loan  of  thirty-seven  cents  for  a  few  days  ?  I  shall  be  in  a 
way  to  repay  it  very  soon." 

"  He'll  pay  ye  when  they  find  the  money,  — the  day  after 
doomsday!"  jeered  Madison.  "I'd  sell  all  my  right  and 
title  to  it  for  a  pack  of  jack-straws.  I'll  see  ye,"  —  signifi 
cantly  to  Guy;  and  he  swaggered  out  of  the  house. 

"What  I  wanted  to  say  to  you,"  whispered  the  doctor, 
pocketing  Guy's  loan,  —  "don't  you  think  you  and  I  can 
take  hold  now,  and  find  that  money  just  as  well  as  a  large 
company  can  ?  There's  a  fortune  to  be  made ;  and  the  fewer 
to  share  it,  the  better.  We  can  get  a  medium  somewhere  : 
I  think  Archy  would  make  a  good  one.  I  —  I  don't  like 
these  impudent  young  women  !  " 

But  Guy  declined  the  tempting  proposition.  He  was  in 
haste  to  depart. 

"  There's  Madison  waiting  for  you  at  the  gate,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  Don't  you  hire  him.  I've  my  reasons.  Don't  try 
to  shake  me  :  I'm  firm  as  a  rock." 

"I've  no  wish  to  shake  you,  doctor,"  —  Guy  smiled; 
"but  I  tell  you  frankly,  if  you  don't  give  your  consent,  I 
shall  venture  to  hire  him  without  it,"  —  going. 

"You  do  it  at  your  peril!  I've  the  lor  on  my  side,  I 
warn  ye  !  "  Biddikin  called  after  him. 

Guy  said  a  few  words  to  Madison  as  he  mounted  his  horse ; 
and,  whistling  to  his  dogs,  rode  down  the  mountain-side. 


ARCHT'S    SUBSTITUTE.  145 

The  open  air  of  the  peaceful  summer  afternoon  was  refresh 
ing  to  him,  coming  from  that  house.  Superb  scenery  spread 
around  him.  Far  to  the  north  and  west  stretched  the  vales 
and  slopes  of  the  sun-spotted  mountain  region.  Close  on  his 
left  arose  the  gray  and  shattered  crags  among  which  Doctor 
Biddikin's  treasure  was  concealed.  Still  nearer,  on  his  right, 
opened  an  immense  ravine;  through  which,  far  down,  visi 
ble  from  the  ridge-side  where  he  rode,  wound  a  tortuous  high 
way,  and  a  still  more  tortuous  brook,  descending  from  a  woody 
notch  in  the  eastern  hills,  and  disappearing  again  in  woods 
a  mile  farther  on. 

Those  were  the  woods  in  which  he  had  hunted  Lucy  with 
his  hound.  That  was  the  brook,  which,  joined  by  another 
from  beyond  the  crags,  filled  the  woods  with  its  noises. 
And  Guy,  with  tremulous  sweet  memories,  was  soon  riding 
where  the  roads  united,  and  the  streams  flowed  into  one, 
and  the  sun-flushed  foliage  overbowered  him  with  solitude 
and  shadow.  Amongst  rocks  and  trees,  through  picturesque 
leafy  vistas,  by  the  wild  watercourse,  he  passed  pensively. 
His  dogs  ran  before  and  behind  him  noiselessly.  His  horse's 
tread  fell  muffled  in  the  powdery  bed  of  the  road.  One  or 
two  birds  chirped  to  him  at  intervals  in  the  green  umbrage, 
with  long-drawn  plaintive  notes.  Fresh  to  his  nostrils  came 
the  peculiar  smell  of  the  woods,  breathing  of  moss-banks,  cool 
and  damp  recesses,  roots  and  lichens  and  old  leaves.  Now 
and  then  the  pervading  sylvan  odor  was  crossed  by  a  faint 
streak  of  pine-fragrance  astray  in  the  forest ;  and  all  the 
10 


146  ARCHY'S    SUBSTITUTE. 

while,  now  near,  now  farther  off,  poured  and  plashed  and 
gurgled  the  torrent. 

Poured  and  plashed  and  gurgled,  too,  the  waters  of  Guy's 
soul.  Full  of  music,  sweetly,  strongly,  onward  hasting, 
impetuous,  bubbling,  whirling,  in  light  and  gloom,  rushed 
the  emotions  and  thoughts  of  that  wilder  stream. 

Now  he  takes  from  his  bosom  a  miniature,  which  he  gazes 
at  and  kisses  with  fond  eyes  and  lips.  Then  the  profile  the 
seeress  drew  for  him  he  unfolds,  and  regards  long  with  wonder 
ing,  yearning,  awed,  and  misty  eyes.  What  new  fire  is  this 
kindling  his  nerves,  burning  him  with  sweet  raptures,  sighs, 
hopes,  visions  of  the  future  ?  what  vast  ambition  vaguely 
taking  form  in  his  swelling  breast  ? 

Emerging  from  the  woods,  he  stopped  at  a  plain  little 
brown  house  in  a  sequestered  nook,  a  little  removed  from 
the  wayside.  The  approach  to  it  was  across  a  large  grassy 
door-yard  shaded  by  butternuts  and  elms.  He  alighted  at 
the  door,  where  he  was  met  by  the  honest-faced  young  farmer, 
Jehiel  Hedge. 

"  Well,  Jehiel,  how  do  you  get  on  ?  " 

* '  Just  you  come  in  and  see  !  I  tell  ye,  that  wife  of  mine 
is  a  treasure.  She's  got  the  carpet  made  ;  and  hark  !  that's 
the  hammer  !  —  she's  putting  it  down." 

The  two  ascended  to  a  pleasant  chamber,  half  sunny,  half 
shaded  by  the  boughs  of  trees,  where  a  young  woman  knelt, 
and  drove  tacks.  She  lifted  her  face, — a  plain,  rather  large, 
but  somehow  tender  and  luminous  face,  —  which  blushed 
quite  charmingly  at  sight  of  Guy. 


ARCHY'S    SUBSTITUTE.  147 

"It's  all  her  doings,"  said  Jehiel,  pointing  out  the  prog- 
that  had  been  made  in  new-furnishing  the  room. 

"  Only  he  has  done  the  hardest  part  of  it.  He  would 
work  his  hands  off  for  you,  Mr.  Bannington,"  added  Mrs. 
Hedge. 

"  That  reminds  me :  when  I  told  her  we  was  to  get  a 
room  ready  to-day  for  a  new  boarder,  she  wouldn't  hear  to 
it,  she  couldn't  think  of  it,  till  I  mentioned  your  name. 
'  Oh,  yes  ! '  says  she  :  '  any  thing  for  him  !  I'll  go  right  to 
cleaning ! '  And  here  you  see  evidence  of  zeal !  " 

Guy  smiled  with  heartfelt  pleasure,  observing  the  grati 
tude  of  these  kind  hearts,  and  remembering  that  they  owed 
their  happiness  to  him. 

As  he  went  out  with  Jehiel,  he  saw  a  child,  just  large 
enough  to  run  about,  boldly  playing  with  Ranger. 

"  Why,  Teddy  !  you'll  get  eaten  up  !  " 

"  No,  me  won't !  "  said  Teddy  earnestly. 

" His  mother  can't  have  him  in  the  room;  for  he  gets  the 
tacks,  and  swallows  them." 

"  Puts  down  the  nails,  while  she  puts  down  the  carpet,  — 
eh,  Teddy?  See  if  you  will  swallow  this."  And  Guy  gave 
the  child  a  half-dollar. 

"  By  tell  ye  !  "  said  Teddy  proudly.     "  Papa  !  see  !  " 

"  That  name  comes  natural  to  him,"  suggested  Guy. 

"I'm  all  the  papa  he  ever  had,"  answered  Jehiel  with  a 
grave,  pitying  expression.  "  I  loved  him  for  her  sake  at  first : 
I  love  him  for  Teddy's  sake  now  !  "  And  he  folded  the 
child  in  his  arms. 


148  ARCHY'S    SUBSTITUTE. 

There  was  something  in  the  scene,  and  in  the  history 
which  the  scene  recalled,  which  made  Guy's  breath  come 
quick  and  somewhat  chokingly  for  a  moment :  then,  silently 
kissing  the  rosy-cheeked  child,  he  sprang  upon  his  horse. 

He  galloped  home,  saw  the  colonel,  drank  a  cup  of  Mrs. 
Burble's  tea,  and,  exchanging  his  saddle  for  a  light-wheeled 
vehicle,  departed  again  at  sunset,  driving  south. 


LUCY'S    NEW    HOME.  149 


XIII. 
LUCY'S  NEW  HOME. 

INE  miles  southward  along  the  valley,  by  river 
and  grove  and  farm,  went  Guy  with  humming 
wheels. 

Before  him,  in  the  blue  distance,  rising  from  the  valley  at 
its  narrow  outlet,  old  Mount  Solomon  reared  his  kingly  head. 
Huge  and  lone  and  grand  that  mountain  was  :  in  the  sunset 
light,  it  seemed  "  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite  ;  "  and,  as 
Guy  drove  by  the  glassy  pond,  he  beheld  all  that  prismatic 
mass  wondrously  doubled,  set  m  the  severed  ring  of  the 
world,  and  suspended  midway  in  a  duplicated  evening  sky. 
It  typified  the  happiness  he  was  going  to  meet ;  so  beautiful, 
so  warm,  suffused  with  blissful  light ;  so  magnified  also,  sun 
dered  from  the  common  world,  and  set  in  a  ring  of  ideal  life 
by  the  mirror  of  his  imagination. 

The  pond  crossed,  the  valley  once  more  intervened,  em 
bedding  (so  it  seemed)  the  fairer  moiety  of  the  enormous 
brilliant.  And  now  the  veins  of  color  that  dissolved  and 
trickled  down  its  crags  flowed  into  a  gulf  of  purple  shadow, 


150  LUCY'S     NEW     HOME. 

which  rose  like  the  flood  around  Ararat,  drinking  the  golden 
rivers,  and  slowly  submerging  all  beneath  its  dusky  wave. 
And,  as  Guy  advanced,  the  mountain  appeared  to  recede 
before  him,  farther  and  farther,  into  a  vast  background  of 
shadow,  that  thickened  and  lay  upon  it  like  a  pall. 

Would  it  be  thus  with  his  happiness  ?  Was  it  half  illusion  ? 
Would  the  glory  fade  from  it,  and  the  night  ingulf  it  ?  A 
chill  foreboding  crept  over  him,  which  he  could  neither  account 
for  nor  dispel.  Enthroned  above  the  understanding  sits  the 
wise  spirit,  that  perceives  the  shadows  before  us,  and  hints  of 
them. 

In  the  mean  time,  out  from  the  silver  chambers  of  space 
came  Antares  to  keep  watch  above  the  mountain.  Guy 
looked  up,  and  beheld  that  serene  ray.  "  So,"  he  said,  "  if 
dark  hours  are  to  come,  may  some  heavenly  power  keep 
starry  watch  over  us  till  the  morning  dawns  !  " 

With  quickening  thrills  he  entered  the  outskirts  of  a  town 
at  the  mountain's  base.  Through  dark  streets,  by  many  a 
glimmering  cottage  light,  ho  passed,  till  the  village  hotel  was 
reached.  He  springs  to  the  piazza,  hurries  up  the  hall  stairs, 
and  raps  in  a  dun  passage  at  a  door.  A  flutter,  a  light,  quick 
step,  within ;  eager  hands  open  for  him  ;  light  and  beauty 
beam  upon  him  ;  and  love  welcomes  him  with  soft  arms, 


And  a  voice  less  loud  through  its  hopes  and  fears 
Than  the  two  hearts  beating  each  to  each." 


"Guy!" 
"  Lucy ! " 


LUCY'S     NEW     HOME.  151 

As  if  the  few  hours  of  their  separation  had  been  years. 
And  their  lips  are  glued  together  with  a  kiss  which  seals  the 
spring  of  words,  but  floods  the  silence  with  communion  sweeter 
than  speech. 

"  All  mine,  — all  mine  !  "  And  Guy  placed  her  on  the 
sofa,  still  clinging  to  him ;  her  curls  all  alive,  and  quivering 
on  his  shoulder  and  breast. 

"  0  Guy  !  "  — as  soon  as  she  could  speak,  —  "we  must 
never  be  separated  so  again  I  " 

"  Darling,  we  never  will !  Your  little  home  is  pre 
pared." 

Mine  —  not  yours?" 

••Ours,  dearest!  I  shall  see  you  every  day, — every 
night"  — 

"  See  me  ?     That  is  such  a  cold  word  !  " 

"  Till  the  time  comes  when  you  can  be  mine  before  the 
world;  which  time  will  come  soon." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  we  are  not  building  our  house  on  the  sand  ! 
But  we  won't  think  of  it!"  Lucy  quickly  adds,  as  if 
afraid  of  her  own  misgivings.  "  I  have  you  now  :  that  is 
enough." 

"Is  it  real?  is  it  not  a  dream?"  says  the  intoxicated 
Guy. 

"  And  am  I  the  poor  little  thing  that  ran  away  from  you 
—  or  tried  to  —  four,  five,  how  many  days  ago?  I  can't 
reckon  by  days :  they  have  all  been  melted  up  in  the  fur- 


152  LUCY'S     NEW     HOME. 

Into  which  furnace  had  gone  fear,  resolution,  pride ;  trial, 
struggle,  prayer;  a  journey  and  a  return,  with  a  whirl  of 
emotions  and  events,  all  fused  into  one  fiery  experience, 
needless  now  to  recall. 

"  Do  you  know  what  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  have  such 
power?  "  says  Lucy  with  dewy  eyes. 

"It  is  a  most  glorious  thing  since  it  gives  me  you!" 
answers  the  remorseless  lover. 

"  Always  think  so  !  You  are  all  I  have.  You  stand  be 
tween  me  and  the  world:  you  are  my  world." 

At  which  he  clasps  her  with  impetuous  passion,  and  vows 
in  his  soul  always  to  guard  her  tenderly,  and  love  her  well. 

"  Shall  we  go  soon  ?  or  wait  till  the  moon  rises?  " 

"The  moon  rises  late,"  said  Lucy;  "and  I  am  impa 
tient  to  quit  this  house." 

"I  can  imagine  you  have  had  a  long  and  lonesome  day  in 
it ;  but  it  is  over  now." 

1 '  It  seems  that  I  have  lived  a  lifetime  in  myself  since  you 
left  me  this  morning.  But  that's  not  it :  there's  a  woman 
here  who  haunts  me.  I  have  heard  of  the  evil  eye ;  but  I 
never  knew  what  it  was  before." 

"What  is  it?  who  is  she?" 

"  I  don't  know;  only  she  is  a  spiritualist," —  Lucy  could 
not  disguise  her  scorn,  —  "  and  a  medium,  I  should  think." 

"  Ah !  "  —  Guy  was  interested.  "  How  did  you  find  that 
out?" 

"  I  overheard  her  talking  with  the  landlord  and  his  wife : 


LUCY'S     NEW    HOME.  153 

euch  nonsense  !  It  reminded  me  of  the  fishing  fanatic  in  the 
woods.  Come,  let's  go :  I  am  growing  a  little  superstitious 
myself.  I  can  feel  that  woman's  spirit  following  me  around. 
She'll  do  me  a  mischief  some  time ;  I'm  sure  she  will !  " 

"  How  does  she  act?     Describe  her." 

"  I  can't.  You  should  have  seen  how  she  stared  at  me  at 
the  tea-table  !  You  would  have  thought  she  meant  to  have 
my  soul :  I'm  afraid  she'll  get  it  if  we  stay  !  "  And  Lucy 
hurried  on  her  things,  whilst  Guy  sent  her  trunk  —  a  new 
one,  large  and  well  filled  —  down  to  the  carriage.  Then  she 
bade  farewell  to  that  ever-memorable  room,  and,  leaning  on 
his  arm,  passed  through  the  passage  to  the  hall  stairs.  Sud 
denly  she  recoiled. 

"  There  she  is !  "  she  whispered,  drawing  him  back. 
"Wait  here." 

Guy,  who  expected  to  behold  a  sinister-eyed  sorceress, 
started  with  surprise.  An  eleganjtly  attired  lady,  quite 
young,  with  a  nervous,  pale,  peculiar  face,  was  ascending 
the  stairs,  followed  by  a  gentleman.  Lucy  tried  not  to  look 
at  her,  but  could  not  resist  the  fascination.  The  lady,  how 
ever,  scarcely  regarded  Lucy,  —  merely  giving  her  one  pene 
trating,  almost  disdainful  glance;  then  bent  those  expres 
sive  eyes  of  hers  full  on  Guy,  with  a  slight  bow  of  graceful 
recognition  as  she  swept  past.  Guy  touched  his  hat  to  her, 
and  again  to  the  gentleman.  Lucy  felt  suffocated. 

"  Do  you  know  that  woman?  "  she  asked  when  they  were 
once  in  the  carriage. 


154  LUCY'S    NEW    HOME. 

"I  have  met  her.'1 

"When?  — where?" 

"  To-day,  —  at  Doctor  Biddikin's,  —  when  I  went  to  hire 
Madison." 

"  Ah !  then  that  is  the  place  she  told  about  !  " 

"What  did  she  tell?" 

' '  How  she  was  sent  there  by  spirits,  —  something  about  a 
great  organization  which  she  wouldn't  explain ;  and  a  mys 
terious  story  of  a  dead  body  she  saw  in  a  sort  of  vision  :  did 
you  hear  any  thing  about  it?  " 

Guy  felt  the  time  had  not  come  for  relating  all  he  had 
heard  :  he  accordingly  answered  evasively,  and  changed  the 
subject.  Far  different  themes  absorbed  them  soon,  making 
the  way  seem  short. 

The  stars  were  misty  when  they  set  out :  a  veil  of  haze 
covered  the  sky,  and  thickened  to  a  cloud  ;  so  that  it  was  quite 
dark  before  their  destination  was  reached.  The  carriage 
struck  a  gate-post  at  the  entrance  to  Jchiel's  yard.  The  rest 
less  horse  alternately  started  and  backed.  Guy  grew  vexed 
at  trying  to  manage  him  ;  Lucy  was  alarmed  ;  and,  to  add  to 
the  impressiveness  of  the  scene,  it  began  to  rain. 

Jehiel  brought  a  lantern  to  their  aid.  The  wheels  were 
soon  disembarrassed,  and  Guy  whipped  on  to  the  house. 
No  serious  accident  had  occurred.  At  another  time,  the  little 
adventure  would  have  served  only  to  raise  his  spirits.  But 
Guy  was  vexed  that  he  had  suffered  himself  to  get  vexed. 
And  Lucy,  keenly  sensitive,  entering  her  new  home  with 


LUCY'S     NEW    HOME.  155 

misgivings  she  vainly  endeavored  to  stifle,  felt  that  the  rain 
and  the  collision  were  ominous ;  and  experienced  a  secret 
shame  and  misery  at  seeing  only  a  man  and  a  lantern,  when 
she  should  have  received  a  far  different  welcome. 

The  warm  pressure  of  Mrs.  Hedge's  hand  partly  re-assured 
her.  And  the  aspect  of  the  room  that  awaited  her  ;  the  neat 
little  bed-chamber  adjoining ;  the  pictures ;  the  books ;  the 
flowers  that  perfumed  the  air ;  the  darkness  and  the  rain  shut 
out,  comfort  and  happiness  shut  in  ;  and  Guy,  her  sole  com 
panion  now  in  the  wide  world,  her  guide,  her  consolation, 
smiling  fondly  beside  her,  —  touched  her  with  surprise  and 
gratitude. 

"  This  is  home !  "  the  mellowest  of  all  voices  breathed 
in  her  ear. 

' '  It  will  be  home  when  you  are  with  me ;  but  when  you 
are  away  "  — 

"  My  heart  will  never  be  away.  I  must  live  one  life  in 
my  father's  eyes  :  he  needs  me.  I  shall  do  my  duty  ;  but 
here  is  home.  No  Aunt  Pinworth  here,  Lucy !  " 

"  Poor  Aunt  Pinworth  !     What  will  she  say  ?  " 

"  Who  cares  what  anybody  says?  "  cried  Guy,  exultant. 

"  That  is  easy  for  you  to  ask  :  you  are  a  man.  But  I," 
said  Lucy,  —  not  sadly  or  reproachfully,  —  "  how  am  I  going 
to  live  through  what  I  know  must  come  ?  Here  among  the 
very  people  I  have  always  known,  who  can't  understand  me, 
—  to  be  wondered  at,  talked  about,  —  oh,  what  a  buzzing 
there  will  be!"  And  still  Lucy,  who  foresaw  much,  did 


156  LUCY'S     NEW    HOME. 

not  foresee  all,  else  she  could  hardly  have  looked  up  at  Guy 
with  that  charming  smile  which  relieved  her  words  of  all 
shadow  of  complaint.  "  But  Mrs.  Hedge,  she  will  not  buzz. 
Who  else,  Guy,  could  we  trust  ?  who  else  could  I  make  my 
home  with  now?  " 

"  She  will  have  charity  when  she  comes  to  understand, — 
thanks  to  her  rich  experience,"  answered  Guy. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  her  experience  has  been !  Tell 
me  every  thing  you  know  about  her."  And  Lucy  composed 
herself  seriously  to  listen. 

"Well,  let  me  remember.  It  was  just  about  this  season 
of  the  year  that  I  was  driving  home  one  evening  by  the 
road  which  we  just  came.  But  such  a  time  it  was  !  It  had 
been  raining  for  three  days  :  the  river  had  risen,  and  the  flats 
were  covered.  The  water  was  in  places  knee-deep  to  my 
horse  in  the  centre  of  the  road.  And  there  I  overtook  a 
woman,  alone,  on  foot, — just  at  dark.  She  had  acres  of 
water  still  to  cross ;  and,  naturally,  I  offered  to  carry  her 
over.  She  got  into  the  wagon  with  her  bundle;  and,  as  I 
drove  along,  I  inquired  where  she  wished  to  go.  '  Anywhere, 
to  get  work,'  she  said.  And  I  saw  at  once  what  manner  of 
woman  I  had  picked  up,  —  an  afflicted  woman ;  a  woman 
of  heart,  crushed  by  some  terrible  sorrow,  and  broken  by 
severe  physical  suffering.  Well,  I  took  her  home :  and  it 
was  time ;  for  she  was  nearly  dead  with  exposure  and  exhaus 
tion  when  I  put  her  into  Rhoda's  hands." 

"  Oh,  dreadful !     But  it  was  good  in  you,  Guy  1 " 


LUCY'S     NEW    HOME.  157 

"This  is  all  I  know  of  her  history;  except  that,  three 
weeks  later,  a  child  was  born  in  our  house,  —  our  little 
Teddy.  Jehiel,  who  came  to  work  for  us,  and  believed 
her  a  widow,  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  she  with  him.  He 
offered  himself;  and  she,  true  woman,  thanking  him  with 
tears  for  the  blessing  his  love  was  to  her,  declined  it,  how 
ever,  and  told  him  the  reason,  as  a  true  woman  should. 
Either  the  refusal,  or  the  reason  of  it,  smote  poor  Jehiel  a 
stunning  blow.  I  had  befriended  him  in  many  things ;  and 
he  consulted  me  in  this.  I  took  him  with  me  to  see  her, 
and  sat  down  between  them,  and  put  her  hand  in  his, 
with  a  few  words  of  serious  truth,  and  left  them  ;  and  the 
next  spring  they  were  married.  I  got  him  this  house,  gave 
him  land  to  work ;  and  here  they  have  lived  ever  since,  and 
been  extremely  happy.  So  they  are  naturally  grateful  to 
me ;  though,  of  course,  I  have  done  nothing  for  them,  to 
speak  of." 

"  You  showed  them  the  way  to  happiness,  when  perhaps 
they  would  never  have  been  brave  enough  to  do  their  simple 
duty  to  each  other  without  regard  to  the  past  or  to  preju 
dice.  No  wonder  they  bless  you !  0  Guy  !  you  are 
good ! " 

"And,  do  you  know,  the  kind  and  sagacious  world  has 
repaid  me  by  giving  me  the  credit  of  little  Teddy's  paternity? 
What  will  be  said  now,  I  wonder  ?  But  we  must  make  up 
our  minds  never  to  care." 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  yon  know ! "  exclaimed  Lucy ; 


158  LUCY'S     NEW    HOME. 

' '  and  you  shall  see  if  I  am  not  strong !  I  love  this  little 
home  already.  Dear  Aunt  Pinworth,  sweet  Cousin  So 
phy,  adieu,  adieu! — What  a  beautiful  carpet!"  She 
fluttered  and  cooed  over  it  like  a  dove.  "  And  what  a  won 
derful  picture  !  "  —  holding  the  lamp  to  a  large  and  remarka 
ble  photograph  of  Thorwaldsen's  "Night,"  which,  with  its 
companion  "  Morning,"  hung  by  the  entrance  to  the  bed 
chamber.  "  Those  wings,  with  that  light  on  them,  so  majestic 
and  so  calm,  —  they  make  me  shiver  !  And  those  darling 
little  babies,  —  it  seems  as  if  I  could  take  them  from  her 
arms  !  It  doesn't  look  like  a  picture :  it  is  marble  itself ; 
only  no  marble  was  ever  so  soft  and  pure." 

They  sat  down  by  the  window. 

"  What  noise  is  that?  The  brook  ?  the  mountain-brook  ? 
Oh,  how  grand  !  Is  it  near  ?  " 

"  Within  a  stone's  toss  of  the  house." 

She  leaned  upon  the  casement,  and  looked  out  into  the 
darkness,  and  listened  to  the  roar  of  the  stream.  The  wind 
had  risen,  and  the  rain  pattered  on  the  leaves.  She  was 
silent  with  awe ;  her  enthusiastic  and  ever-changing  features 
fixed  for  a  minute  with  sublime  emotion. 

"  Such  nights  will  make  you  melancholy  when  I  am  away," 
said  Guy. 

"  Not  if  I  can  feel  that  you  are  coming  again,  and  that  you 
love  me  when  you  are  away,"  answered  Lucy. 

"  Then  you  shall  never  be  lonely  !  " 

"Oh!  I  maybe  lonely;  and  I  love  loneliness.     Howl 


LUCY'S     NEW    HOME.  159 

shall  enjoy  the  noise  of  the  brook  night  and  day !  But  it 
sounds  wild  and  disconsolate  to-night,  —  almost  savage  in  its 
woe,  —  wailing  out  there  in  the  dark  !  Shut  the  window  : 
the  rain  will  spoil  our  new  carpet.  And  your  horse  —  is  he 
taken  care  of  ?  " 

"  Thoughtful  child,  yes  !     He  is  in  Jehiel's  barn." 

"  Then  let  it  rain  !  Won't  it  be  fine,  if  there's  a  freshet, 
to  sit  here  and  watch  it,  and  hear  the  stones  bump  together 
as  the  water  carries  them  down?  People  call  it  Thunder 
Brook,  then ;  and  this  —  we  will  name  Thunder-Brook 
Place." 

Lucy  was  in  high  spirits,  —  more  radiant  with  loveliness 
and  exaltation  than  Guy  had  ever  seen  her.  The  very  sight 
of  her  was  wine  to  his  soul.  But  he  grew  pensive  at  times, 
thinking  how  he  should  tell  her  what  he  most  desired  to 
tell. 

"  How  does  Archy  get  along?  "  she  inquired.  And  that 
led  the  way. 

"Archy  has  lost  his  situation." 

"  Lost  it !  how?  "  she  exclaimed  with  the  disappointment 
of  a  patroness ;  for,  though  Archy  and  the  colonel  were  not 
aware,  it  was  by  her  recommendation  that  Guy  had  engaged 
the  genius. 

"  He  is  a  medium,"  Guy  explained. 

"A  medium  !     What  kind  of  a  medium  ?  " 

"  A  boxing  medium,  —  very  well  developed,  I  should  say. 
I  caught  him  boxing  the  colonel,  —  cuffing  my  respected 


160  LUCY'S     NEW    HOME. 

parent;  knocking  off"  the  Bannington  hat;"  and  he  pro 
ceeded  to  describe  the  ludicrous  scene. 

Lucy  was  amazed.  If  Archy  did  thus, — kind,  honest, 
timorous  Archy,  —  she  declared  that  he  must  be  insane ; 
secretly  suspecting,  perhaps,  that  disappointed  affection  was 
the  cause. 

Guy  then  related  the  previous  occurrences  which  had 
already  made  a  stir  in  the  village,  and  was  almost  vexed 
at  her  incredulity  and  ridicule.  She  considered  Madison's 
bodily  appearance  in  the  room  where  his  father  was  getting 
communications  from  his  spirit  as  a  jocose  circumstance,  more 
effective  than  any  argument  to  prove  the  absurdity  of  it  all. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Guy,  as  if  wishing  to  drop  the  subject. 
He  produced  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  he  unfolded.  "  I  have 
a  little  drawing  here  :  see  if  you  recognize  that  profile." 

Lucy  regarded  it  with  a  start  of  surprise,  exclaiming  in 
stantly,  — 

"  Why  !  it  is  your  mother  !  " 

"  Consider  it  well,"  said  Guy,  —  very  grave,  his  features 
flushed. 

"  The  nose  and  forehead  are  perfect,  and  the  mouth  and 
the  chin  !  There  can  be  no  mistake.  But  what  a  peculiar 
sketch  !  Where  did  you  get  it?  " 

Then  Guy  told  his  story;  Lucy  listening  with  astonish 
ment  and  concern.  There  was  a  long  pause  when  he  had 
concluded. 

"Do  you  believe,"  faltered  Lucy,  "that  she  —  your 
mother  —  was  there?" 


LUCY'S    NEW    HOME.  161 

She  knew  his  love  and  reverence  for  that  mother,  and  put 
her  question  tremulously  and  hesitatingly.  He  studied  the 
profile  with  silent  emotion. 

"  If  I  could  believe  that  the  spirit  exists  after  the  body 
dies ;  if  I  could  feel  assured  that  she  lives,  a  spirit,  in  the 
invisible  world," — he  began  slowly  and  seriously. 

"But  you  believe  that!"  Lucy  eagerly  interposed. 

"Not  clearly  and  fully,"  Guy  unwillingly  admitted. 

Lucy  was  shocked  ;  as  every  true  woman  who  loves  is 
shocked,  when  she  learns  that  her  lover  holds  a  colder  and 
shallower  faith  than  her  own. 

"No,"  he  added:  "God  help  me,  I  never  could  say  T 
believed  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  It  is  a  beautiful 
theory ;  but  it  '  lacks  confirmation.'  I  wait  for  proof." 

"  Do  not  reason  and  intuition  prove  it,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  inspired  Book?" 

"Plato  fails,  with  all  his  power  of  reason;  and,  when  I 
read  the  '  Phaedo,'  I  wish  I  were  Cebes  or  Simmias,  that 
I  might  put  to  Socrates  some  pertinent  questions.  And  in 
tuition  ?  "We  feel  that  the  soul  is  immortal,  —  I  certainly 
do ;  but  may  not  that  be  because  we  desire  it  should 
be  so?" 

"But  the  Scriptures?"  said  Lucy,  pained  and  agitated. 
"The  promise  there,  —  the  resurrection,  —  the  angels  that 
rolled  away  the  stone  !  " 

Guy  smiled.  "  You  wouldn't  believe  some  things  I  told 
you  just  now ;  though  we  have  my  father,  Mr.  Burble,  and 
11 


162  LUCY'S     NEW    HOME. 

others  whom  we  know,  as  witnesses  to  the  facts.  How,  then, 
can  you  expect  me  to  believe  what  occurred  hundreds  of 
years  ago  on  the  evidence  of  persons  I  never  knew?" 

Lucy  looked  frightened.  "  What  proof  can  there  be, 
then?" 

"  None  !  "  answered  Guy  ;  "  unless  some  imprudent,  socia 
ble  angel  let  fall  —  as  Emerson  declares  none  ever  did  —  a 
syllable,  or  many  syllables,  to  answer  the  longings  of  saints, 
the  fears  of  mortals." 

"  0  Guy  !  "  pleaded  Lucy,  "  don't  talk  of  Emerson,  or  of 
Plato,  or  of  proof,  but  believe  !  Believe  as  I  do ;  because 
I  know  in  my  heart  that  God  is,  that  Christ  is,  that  my 
mother  who  died  lives  still!" 

"  If  I  believed  the  same  of  my  mother,  then  I  should 
know  what  I  think  of  that!  "  — laying  his  hand  earnestly 
on  the  profile. 

"  That  she  was  there?  "  Lucy  inquired  fearfully. 

"  What  else  so  probable  as  that  she  was  there?  And,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  felt  her  there  before  the  profile  was 
drawn.  How  that  was  done,  even  supposing  she  was  present, 
I  don't  pretend  to  say  :  but  I  can  conceive  that  it  might  be ; 
while  I  can't  conceive  how  by  any  chance  or  possibility  it 
could  have  been  done,  had  there  been  no  intelligence  present 
superior  to  the  minds  of  us  who  were  present  bodily." 

"  What !  not  if  the  medium  had  seen  your  mother  ?  " 

"  If  she  had  seen  her  a  thousand  times,  it  would  be  diffi 
cult  to  credit  that  she  could  draw  instantly  from  memory  so 


LUCY'S     NEW    HOME.  163 

accurate  a  likeness.  She  would  be  a  genius.  And  what 
object  could  she  have  in  denying  that  she  is  a  genius?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  only  one  thing,"  said  Lucy,  all  her  femi 
nine  antipathy  raised  again,  —  "  that  she  is  an  artful,  design 
ing  woman  ! "  :  .,-' 

"  I  hope  you  intend  that  simply  as  a  pun,"  Guy  responded 
somewhat  bitterly. 

"  No  pun  at  all,  but  downright  earnest !  " 

He  deliberately  folded  the  paper,  and  replaced  it  in  his 
pocket  with  a  hurt  expression.  She  lost  no  time,  but  flung 
her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  draws,  if  she  don't  draw  you  !  " 
she  cried  with  the  charming  playfulness  with  which  she  Tmew 
how  to  embroider  the  most  sombre  scenes. 

He  did  not  smile.  "  I  think  wo  may  use  reason  in  speak 
ing  of  things  we  do  not  understand,  and  charity  in  speaking 
of  persons  we  don't  know,"  he  said  with  a  seriousness  of 
mien  that  went  to  her  heart. 

Thus  the  evening,  which,  of  all  evenings,  should  have  been 
warm  and  vibrant  with  harmonious  love,  was  marred  by 
discord. 

But  the  moody  Guy  could  not  long  resist  her  sweet  and 
winning  influence.  The  first  silver  tears  that  slid  from  those 
beloved  eyes  transported  him  with  tenderness ;  and  soon  all 
differences  were  forgotten  in  the  deliciousness  of  reconcilia 
tion. 


164  LUCY'S     NEW    HOME. 

It  was  raining  still  when  he  departed ;  and  Lucy,  watch 
ing  him  from  a  window  till  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness 
which  no  lantern  could  illume,  listening  to  the  slow  grating 
of  the  wheels  along  the  gravel  till  all  sounds  were  lost  in  the 
universal  pouring  and  pattering,  felt  a  sense  of  loneliness 
and  dread  come  over  her,  solemn'  as  death. 

But  she  was  weary.  Guy  had  left  her  that  she  might 
sleep ;  and  nestling  down  in  her  cool  white  bed,  with  folded 
palms  and  silent  prayer,  she,  for  the  first  time  in  many  days, 
felt  herself  at  rest ;  and  soon  sank  to  sleep,  breathing  the 
faint  perfume  of  flowers  that  re-appeared  in  dreams,  and  hear 
ing  all  night  long,  —  like  the  Fairy  Knight  of  Spenser,  — 

"  To  lull  her  to  her  slumber  soft, 
A  trickling1  stream  from  high  rock  tumbling  down, 
And  ever  drizzling  rain  upon  the  loft, 
Mixt  with  a  murmuring  wind." 


THE     SITUATION.  165 


XIV. 

THE  SITUATION. 

HE  hive  of  village  gossip  began  about  this  time 
to  buzz  with  unusual  excitement.     There  was  a 

great  deal  of  noise,  and  much  stinging ;  while  a 
little  honey  was  dispensed,  —  to  those  persons,  of  course,  who 
least  deserved  it. 

One  of  these  was  young  Biddikin.  He  had  gone  to  work 
at  Colonel  Bannington's ;  had  put  off  recklessness  with  his 
rags,  and  adopted  good  moral  habits  with  those  which  Guy 
gave  him  out  of  his  wardrobe ;  while  just  enough  of  the  old 
aroma  of  wickedness  remained  to  give  a  pleasant  pungency  to 
his  character.  Society  delights  in  change,  in  contrast  and 
surprise.  It  gets  tired  of  hearing  Aristides  called  the  Just ; 
and  is  always  eager  to  pick  up  and  patronize  the  scamp  with 
a  thousand  crimes,  and  one  virtue  to  make  them  interesting. 

Another  who  got  honey  was  Lawyer  Pelt.  As  soon  as  it 
was  ascertained  that  he  had  purchased  village  lots  on  which 
he  purposed  erecting  a  mansion  of  superior  elegance,  the 
mothers  of  unwedded  daughters  began  to  pronounce  his 


166  THE     SITUATION. 

euphonious  name  with  respectful  interest ;  and  the  daughters 
themselves  looked  at  him  as  the  Thessalian  maidens  might 
have  looked  at  King  Admetus's  shepherd,  when,  from  his 
mean  disguise,  they  saw  Apollo  emerging.  The  fathers 
nodded  and  smiled,  and  said  Apollo  —  we  mean  Pelt  —  was 
a  good  deal  more  of  a  chap  than  had  been  supposed  :  and 
everybody  wondered  at  his  hitherto  unsuspected  prosperity ; 
while  only  one  head  was  dubiously  shaken,  and  that  was  a 
red  one. 

Another  who  got  honey  was  Lucy ;  but  it  was  the  honey 
of  cyphonism,  —  a  little  thin  sweetening  of  praise  spread 
over  her  to  attract  swarming  insects  with  their  bites  and 
stings. 

Fearful  to  a  young  girl,  however  innocent,  however  brave, 
she  may  be,  is  the  first  vile  darkening  and  devastating  swarm 
that  alights  upon  her  character.  And  think  you  Lucy,  though 
buiied  in  her  solitude,  did  not  hear  and  feel  ? 

Not  blindly,  not  without  knowing  well  what  to  expect,  had 
she  done  a  thing  to  be  greatly  wondered  at :  she  had  treas 
ured  patience  and  faith  against  this  inevitable  hour;  but, 
when  one  after  another  officious  friendly-seeming  foe  hastened 
to  report  to  her  confidentially  the  world's  sarcasms  and  harsh 
judgments,  it  seemed  more  than  heart  could  bear. 

Still  Guy  believed  her  happy ;  nor  was  he  altogether  de 
ceived.  Delicious  was  the  consolation  of  his  coming.  It 
was  warm  and  perfumed  spring  after  the  winter  of  discontent. 
The  rosy  glowing  hours  drifted  by  like  dreams.  They  lived 


THE     SITUATION.  167 

imparadised  in  one  another's  arms,  like  the  first  mortal  pair 
that  loved  and  sinned.     Nepenthe  brimmed  their  cup,  — 

"  A  drink  of  sovereign  grace, 
Devised  by  the  gods  for  to  assuage 
Heart's  grief;  .  .  .  whereby  all  cares  forepast 
Are  washed  away  quite  from  the  memory." 

And  yet  scarce  the  true  nepenthe  was  it;  whereof  "such 
as  drink,  eternal  happiness  do  find."  It  blessed  their  lips 
and  hearts,  but  did  not  infuse  its  divine  quality  forever  into 
their  souls. 

What,  then,  was  amiss  with  them  ? 

Alas  !  what  men  are  always  trying  to  do,  yet  none  ever 
succeeded  in  doing,  they  had  also  attempted. 

O  lovers  !  wherefore  is  this  crimson  morning  of  passion 
granted  you,  but  that  you  may  awake  from  the  delirium  of 
the  sleep-walking  world,  and  look  upon  realities  ? 

The  ladder  of  worldliness  was  never  the  way  to  heaven. 
But  despise  the  earthly  rounds,  and,  lo !  what  wings  are 
given  you !  The  pure  ether  upbears  you  on  its  crystal 
bosom ;  the  world  with  its  nothingness  recedes ;  the  blissful 
doors  fly  open. 

Guy  and  Lucy  aspired  to  heaven,  but  clung  to  the  ladder. 

Had  they  been  as  ready  to  brave  the  colonel's  wrath  and 
all  its  consequences  as  they  were  to  risk  the  world's  opinion  ; 
had  they,  for  love's  sake,  given  themselves  openly  and  truly 
to  each  other,  fearing  nothing,  concealing  nothing,  accepting 
cheerfully  all  penalties,  —  what  blessedness  might  have  been 


168  THE     SITUATION. 

theirs  !  But  Guy  feared  for  Lucy ;  Lucy  trembled  for  Guy  : 
and  so,  not  altogether  selfish,  but  each  for  the  other's  sake, 
they  sinned. 

To  say  that  they  were  waiting  for  the  colonel  to  die,  and 
were  fast  accumulating  causes  to  hope  he  would  die  soon, 
gives  a  rather  ugly  face  to  the  matter,  which  the  blushing 
Muse  would  gladly  veil  in  tropes. 

Indirectness,  deception,  —  these  are  the  fatal  byways  in 
which  many  a  secret  serpent  crawls ;  and  therein  walked 
the  lovers  towards  the  tragedy  of  their  lives. 

Breathe  warm  upon  them,  perfumed  spring  of  love  !  Drift, 
rosy  and  glowing  hours,  —  drift  over  them  like  dreams  I 
Flow,  sweet  nepenthe,  yet  a  little  while  ! 

In  the  mean  time  had  arisen  a  topic  which  was  speedily 
absorbing  all  others. 

The  table  of  spiritualism  —  like  the  old  broom  with  which 
the  magician's  apprentice,  in  Goethe's  poem,  tries  his  hand  at 
his  master's  trade  —  had  let  loose  a  flood  which  swelled 
beyond  all  bounds.  Over  the  threshold  of  conventionality, 
over  the  stairs  of  class,  over  the  walls  of  creed,  rushed  the 
uncontrollable  waters,  threatening  to  overwhelm  the  entire 
structure,  and  frightening  those  who  did  not  believe  that  the 
Master  was  at  hand,  and  that  the  house  would  be  improved 
by  the  washing. 

A  great  perturbation  ensued  hi  the  little  village.  Four 
classes  at  once  arose, — believers,  who  received  the  revelations 


THE    SITUATION.  169 

of  spirits  as  a  new  gospel  of  glad  tidings  ;  opponents,  who  as 
promptly  denounced  them  as  imposture,  and  the  work  of  the 
Devil ;  and  earnest  investigators,  who  meant  to  be  impartial, 
avoid  the  fanaticism  of  both  sides,  and  come  to  just  conclu 
sions.  The  fourth  class  were  those  who  didn't  care  whether 
the  thing  was  true  or  not :  they  had  other  matters  to  attend 
to,  —  buying,  selling,  eating,  drinking,  begetting,  —  and 
desired  to  postpone  acquaintance  with  the  higher  spheres  as 
long  as  possible. 

In  a  short  time,  it  was  estimated  that  every  other  member 
of  every  other  household  was  a  convert  to  the  new  doctrines. 
Again  children  were  divided  against  parents,  and  parents 
against  each  other,  as  only  the  sword  of  belief  can  divide 
them.  To  superstition  was  opposed  persecution  :  and  it  was 
fortunate  for  some  that  the  world  has  grown  wiser  than  when 
it  hanged  witches  and  burnt  heretics ;  that  no  inquisition 
exists  but  Mrs.  Grundy's,  and  no  stake  but  public  opinion, 
which  are  yet  sufficiently  cruel. 

Such  simple-hearted  people  as  the  Brandies  accepted  the 
new  faith  with  scarce  a  question.  To  the  believing  widow 
there  was  nothing  in  life  so  real  and  sweet  as  the  visits  of  her 
once  lamented  husband,  now  sensibly  present  with  her  again, 
communing  with  her  through  the  mouth  of  their  son,  bring 
ing  daily  joy  and  nightly  consolation. 

Lucy  represented  a  rarer  class  of  minds,  whose  conception 
of  spiritual  existence  is  so  exalted,  that  they  revolt  from  the 
least  admixture  of  the  earthy  or  the  absurd  in  what  claims 


170  THE    SITUATION. 

for  its  origin  tbe  pure  realms  in  which  their  sainted  ones 
dwell. 

Guy  was  not  one  of  these.  No  dove-like  opinions  had 
built  their  nests  in  his  mind,  to  fill  him  with  fluttering  and 

o 

alarm  at  the  least  disturbance.  In  that  open  belfry  were 
large  spaces,  inviting  all  the  birds  of  heaven. 

Long  his  soul  had  been  famishing ;  and  in  his  unrest  he  had 
resorted  to  dissipation  and  wild  sport,  seeking  he  knew  not 
what.  But  love  had  changed  him,  and  prepared  him  for  a 
still  greater  change. 

Those  who  have  been  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  some  creed  can 
with  difficulty  conceive  of  the  whirlwind-like  stress  with  which 
the  first  realizations  of  God  and  immortality  seize  a  nature  like 
his,  deep  with  depths  which  have  never  yet  been  sounded, 
restless  with  powers  which  wait  for  development  and  direction, 
and  endowed  with  impetuous  energy  potent  for  good  or  ill. 

With  a  stern  logic  capable  of  receiving  truth  in  spite  of 
its  ridiculous  or  coarse  disguises,  he  became  an  investigator 
of  the  most  grasping  and  indefatigable  sort.  He  regarded 
with  amazement  and  contempt  those  who  were  indifferent  to  a 
subject  of  such  momentous  importance ;  and  was  often  impa 
tient  with  Lucy,  whose  first  impressions  and  unreasoning 
prejudices  would  not  yield  to  any  arguments.  His  investi 
gations  kept  him  much  from  her ;  and  thus  between  them 
also  the  point  of  the  dividing  sword  showed  itself,  to  the  ter 
ror  of  one  at  least,  who  saw  the  inexorable  edge  advancing. 

Doctor  Biddikin's  treasure  had  risen  in  repute.      Good 


THE    SITUATION.  171 

spiritualists,  receiving  as  infallible  truths  tlie  utterances  of 
mediums,  began  to  credit  the  existence  of  what  had  hitherto 
been  regarded  as  a  chimera  of  the  Biddikin  brain.  In  con 
nection  therewith  had  been  predicted  in  divers  places,  by 
many  seers  and  seeresses,  a  new  social  organization,  involving 
reforms  of  Church  and  State,  and  influencing  the  destinies 
of  the  world ;  in  several  of  which  prophecies,  even  by  per 
sons  to  whom  Guy  was  unknown,  he  was  distinctly  named 
or  unmistakably  described  as  the  leader  of  the  new  order  of 
things.  To  Lucy  it  was  all  fanaticism :  and,  seeing  the 
effect  which  accumulating  marvels  and  predictions  were  hav 
ing  upon  her  lover,  she  exacted  from  him  a  promise  that  he 
would  avoid  the  mediums  of  the  money-digging  spirits,  as 
she  termed  them ;  and  especially  the  seeress  whose  image 
she  remembered,  and  whose  fascinations  she  dreaded,  with 
an  almost  superstitious  fear. 

When,  out  of  the  tenderness  of  his  love  for  her,  Guy  gave 
that  promise,  little  did  he  guess  how  it  was  destined  to  be 
broken. 


172  THE     BEAR- HUNT 


XV. 

THE   BEAR-HUNT. 

T  was  a  morning  in  the  month  of  September. 
Some  young  girls  went  up  to  a  hill  south  of 

the  village  for  blackberries.  They  were  picking 
busily,  and  chatting  merrily,  when  it  was  discovered  that 
they  were  not  alone  in  that  desert  of  rocks  and  bushes 
They  heard  a  rustling,  and  saw  a  black  coat  through  the 
briers,  —  a  very  mysterious  -  looking  black  coat,  the  wearer 
of  which  appeared  to  be  advancing  towards  them  on  hands 
and  knees.  They  retreated  a  short  distance,  and  held  a 
whispered  consultation ;  when  the  stranger,  approaching  be 
hind  a  low  clump  of  foliage,  stopped,  and,  slowly  raising  him 
self  on  his  feet,  looked  over.  It  was  a  figure,  a  countenance, 
to  stamp  itself  in  the  memory.  With  simultaneous  screams 
they  ran  wildly  away,  tearing  through  briers,  stumbling  over 
stones,  dashing  like  a  waterfall  down  the  rocks,  and  not  ven 
turing  once  to  look  back  till  they  were  off  the  hill. 

The  said  black  coat  was  not  a  coat  merely,  but  a  complete 
— trousers  and  waistcoat  all  in  one,  —  which  doubtless 


THE     BEAR-HUNT.  173 

the  wearer  would  have  been  very  sorry  to  lose,  on  account 
of  the  extreme  difficulty  of  getting  another.  Nevertheless, 
within  half  an  hour  from  the  time  when  he  winked  over  the 
bushes  at  the  girls,  a  dozen  men  had  resolved  to  have  that 
sable  garment  off  his  back  before  sundown. 

Foremost  of  all  went  Guy,  clad  in  a  gray  hunting-jacket, 
buttoned  well  about  his  compact  form ;  a  gray  hunting-cap, 
from  beneath  which  flowed  his  wavy  brown  hair  ;  in  his  hand 
a  short  rifle ;  in  his  belt  a  pistol  and  a  knife ;  at  his  side  his 
dogs.  He  stopped  for  Jehiel  on  his  way ;  and,  while  Jehiel 
was  loading  his  musket  and  pulling  on  his  boots,  what  more 
natural  than  that  Guy  should  spring  up  stairs,  and  spend  a 
precious  moment  with  Lucy  ? 

She  knew  his  step,  —  for  nobody  else  ever  mounted  those 
stairs  at  three  bounds,  —  and  was  almost  in  his  arms  before 
she  noticed  his  piratical  appearance. 

"  What !  "  she  cried,  admiring  him  in  that  strange  costume, 
"  have  you  turned  bandit  ?  " 

"  Yes :  I'm  going  to  waylay  a  traveller  over  here,  and 
rifle  his  trunk." 

"  A  bear?  "  And  Lucy  was  astonished  to  learn  that  she 
had  rightly  guessed ;  for,  though  individuals  of  the  ursine 
species  were  known  still  to  exist  in  the  mountain  wildernesses, 
their  appearance  within  the  range  of  civilization  was  of  rare 
occurrence. 

"  He  has  had  the  presumption  to  go  blackberrying  with 
the  girls;  for  which  he  must  die." 


174  THE     BEAR-HUNT. 

"  But,  Guy  !  —  you  will  get  hurt !  " 

She  was  pale  with  fear ;  but  he  laughed  gayly  at  the 
danger. 

"  Only  cowards  get  hurt.  Never  fear  for  me !  Good- 
by !  "  He  clasped  and  kissed  her,  and  was  off  before  she 
could  speak. 

From  her  window  she  saw  him  dash  with  his  dogs  across 
the  brook,  climb  the  bank,  swing  his  cap  at  her  from  the 
summit  in  the  attitude  of  a  Mercury  ' '  new-lighted  on  a 
heaven-kissing  hill,"  and  then  disappear. 

She  sat  down  with  fainting  soul,  and  thought,  "  What  if 
he  should  die?  God  keep  him!  —  God  keep  him  !"  she 
prayed  with  the  wild  fervor  of  love  and  fear,  demanding 
only  that  he  might  live  ;  forgetting  that  there  are  evils  worse 
than  death. 

Joined  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  by  Jehiel,  Madison,  and 
Aaron  Burble,  —  who  had  brought  Ann  Maria  with  him  as 
a  guide  to  the  spot  where  she  and  her  mates  had  seen  the 
bear,  —  Guy  swiftly  stated  the  plan  he  had  decided  upon  for 
the  hunt.  Madison,  who  had  no  gun,  was  to  stay  behind, 
and  keep  back  the  dogs  until  they  were  needed.  Jehiel, 
and  others  who  arrived,  hastened  around  the  eastern  side  of 
the  hill,  to  station  themselves  by  a  field  which  the  bear  must 
cross  if  he  attempted  a  direct  escape  to  the  mountains. 
Then  Guy  and  Aaron,  receiving  their  directions  from  Ann 
Maria,  who  was  left  behind  for  safety,  advanced  cautiously 
into  the  undergrowth,  hoping  to  get  within  sight  and  gun-shot 
of  Bruin  before  he  took  the  alarm. 


THE     BEAR-HUNT.  175 

With  great  difficulty,  Madison  restrained  the  dogs  and  his 
own  impatience  after  the  others  departed.  He  entered  the 
bushes,  brandishing  a  pitchfork,  which  he  felt  confident  no 
discreet  bear  would  fancy  the  looks  of  in  his  valiant  hands. 

Suddenly  the  report  of  a  gun  on  the  hill  filled  the  listen 
ers  with  anxious  expectation.  Who  fired  ?  Was  the  bear 
shot? 

Aaron  rushed  up  to  Guy  in  the  thickets. 

"  Did  you.  fire?" 

"  No.  Somebody  has  got  the  start  of  us.  Hark  !  —  that 
crashing !  " 

Some  object  was  hurrying  through  the  thickets.  Both 
sprang  forward  to  intercept  it ;  but  it  passed  unseen,  swiftly 
descending  the  hill  on  the  side  they  had  come  up.  They 
remembered  with  dismay  Ann  Maria,  left  below  there,  and 
doubtless  joined  by  this  time  by  others  too  timid  to  engage 
in  the  hunt.  Gruy  shouted  to  Madison  to  look  out  for  what 
was  coming. 

Rallying  around  him  the  alert  and  excited  dogs,  Madison 
stood  with  levelled  pitchfork  to  receive  the  enemy.  But  pre 
sently  hearing  a  formidable  crackling  and  thrashing  in  the 
thickets,  as  of  a  monster  plunging  directly  towards  him,  his 
courage  failed,  and  he  sprang  backwards.  To  increase  his 
consternation,  a  wild  vine  caught  his  heel,  and  threw  him. 
Through  the  bushes,  straight  down  upon  him,  before  he  could 
rise,  came  the  cause  of  the  commotion. 

"  Seek !  bite  'em  !  "  he  said  to  the  dogs,  and,  sticking  up 


176  THE     BEAR-HUNT. 

his  pitchfork  to  defend  himself,  came  within  an  inch  or  two  of 
perforating  the  waistbands  of  Archy  Brandle,  who  emerged, 
leaping  in  terror  down  the  declivity. 

Luckily  the  dogs  knew  Archy,  and  looked  beyond  him  for 
their  game.  Madison's  courage  rose  at  once,  and  he  rose 
with  it. 

"  What  ye  running  so  like  a  scar't  devil  for  ?  " 

Hatless,  hair  erect,  staring,  Archy  gasped  out  as  soon  as 
he  could  articulate,  — 

"I  shot  a  bear!  " 

"  You  have  ?     Where's  yer  gun  ?  " 

"I  —  I  d  V  know  :  lost  it."  There  was  another  clashing 
of  the  bushes.  "  He's  coming  !  He's  arter  me  !  "  shrieked 
Archy. 

"  Don't  ye  run  !  "  cried  Mad.  "  I'll  fork  him !  the  dogs'll 
take  him  !  "  And,  valiant  as  if  he  had  slain  one  monster 
already,  and  was  good  for  several  more,  he  stood  holding  his 
fork  while  Guy  and  Aaron  came  hurriedly  out  of  the  thick 
ets  ;  the  latter,  with  his  face  and  figure  and  black  beard, 
resembling  so  much  an  ursus  Americanus,  that  Mad  after 
wards  swore  that  he  should  have  stuck  him  if  he  had  come 
first. 

"Where  was  the  bear?"  was  the  eager  inquiry  of  the 
hunters. 

"  'Twas  Archy !  and  I  come  perty  nigh  fixing  him,"  said 
Mad,  with  a  wicked  expression  about  the  eyes.  "He  has 
shot  your  bear  for  ye." 


THE     BEAR-HUNT.  177 

This  was  the  way  of  it :  — 

Archy  had  been  up  on  the  hill  for  berries,  taking  the  old 
shot-gun  along  in  hopes  he  might  see  a  partridge.  Having 
filled  his  basket,  he  was  walking  over  a  barren  ridge,  his  bas 
ket  in  one  hand,  and  his  gun  in  the  other,  when  he  came  to 
a  steep  place  which  it  was  necessary  to  descend.  Hearing  a 
noise,  he  set  down  his  basket,  and,  advancing  with  careful 
steps  and  levelled  piece,  met  Bruin  exactly  face  to  face.  He 
looked  at  Bruin ;  Bruin  looked  at  him.  He  seemed  benumbed 
by  the  sight ;  and  it  was  a  moment  before  the  reality  of  the 
thing,  with  all  its  terrors,  came  over  him.  Then,  raising  his 
gun,  he  took  aim  (he  thinks),  and  fired.  An  awful  growl  fol 
lowed  the  report,  to  be  dreamed  of  with  starts  of  horror  many 
a  night  afterwards.  But  Archy  had  no  thought  of  waiting  to 
witness  the  effect  of  his  shot.  Flinging  down  his  gun,  he  took 
to  his  legs.  Thus  much,  though  rather  less  coherently,  he  re 
lated  to  the  hunters ;  volunteering  to  return  with  them  to  the 
spot,  where  he  hoped  to  find  his  hat  and  his  berries,  with  per 
haps  a  slaughtered  wild  beast. 

He  knew  the  hill  so  well,  that  with  little  difficulty  he  took 
them  to  the  ridge.  Here  was  his  hat  in  one  place ;  there 
was  his  basket  of  berries.  There  lay  his  gun  on  the  ground. 
But  no  Bruin. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  fired  within  a  mile  of  that  bear!  " 
said  Mad.  "  I'll  try  it  next  time  !  "  possessing  himself  of 
the  gun.  "  You  may  keep  the  fork." 

But  Archy,  who  was  anxious  to  follow  up  the  game,  which 

12 


178  THE    BEAR-HUNT. 

he  was  sure  he  must  have  wounded,  would  not  consent  to  the 
exchange.  A  scuffle  ensued ;  Mad  looking  as  if  he  would 
about  as  willingly  do  Archy  a  mischief  as  the  bear.  Guy 
made  him  give  Archy  the  gun ;  and,  to  satisfy  him,  let  him 
have  his  pistol. 

The  dogs  had  by  this  time  scented  the  game ;  and  no  time 
was  to  be  lost  in  following  them. 

Bruin  had  evidently  been  not  much  less  frightened  than 
Archy ;  the  progress  he  made  showing  that  he  had  fled  in 
one  direction  as  fast  as  the  youth  in  the  other.  Crack ! 
bang !  went  a  rifle  and  a  musket,  almost  simultaneously,  be 
yond  the  hill. 

Jehiel  and  a  companion,  stationed  in  the  field,  had  fired  at 
him  as  he  passed.  The  dogs  appeared  soon.  The  hunters 
followed  from  the  hill.  The  game  plunged  into  a  swamp, 
which  echoed  presently  with  the  cry  of  hounds,  the  crack  of 
guns,  and  the  shouts  of  men. 

It  was  a  small  swamp  of  balsams,  hackmatacks,  cedars, 
and  fallen  trunks  ;  gray,  mossy,  tangled,  pathless.  Here  the 
bear  paused,  perhaps  considering  himself  safe  in  that  gloomy 
fastness.  But  through  the  low  spiked  branches  blazed  a 
couple  of  guns,  and  over  logs  and  hollows  dashed  the  dogs. 
Yelps  of  pain,  and  growls  of  rage,  succeeded  the  onset;  and 
straightway  out  of  the  swamp,  through  an  undergrowth  be 
yond,  swept  a  huge,  polypous,  many-headed,  terrific  monster, 
—  one  indistinguishable  mass  of  dogs  and  bear.  It  left  an 
open  path  behind  it.  The  hunters  sped  after,  and  came  upon 


THE    BEAR-HUNT.  179 

an  animal  kicking  on  his  back,  as  if  in  the  last  spasm.  It  was 
Ranger,  out  of  whose  body  the  breath  had  been  beaten  by  the 
stroke  of  a  paw.  Guy  spoke  to  him  :  he  got  up,  limping,  and 
carrying  his  tail  dejectedly;  but  soon  recovered  his  spirit, 
and  joined  again  in  the  chase. 

They  approached  the  mountain's  side,  near  which  the  cla 
mor  of  the  dogs  proclaimed  that  the  bear  was  at  bay. 

Guy  hurried  forward.  The  thickets  opened  upon  a  scene 
of  awful  grandeur.  Stern  and  tremendous  rose  the  cliffs 
before  him.  Vast  cataracts  of  stones,  high-piled  enormous 
blocks,  like  stairs  for  Titans  to  mount,  covered  the  mountain's 
front,  and  deluged  its  base.  High  over  all  soared  the  gray, 
eternal  crags,  like  shattered  columns  towering  above  the  ruins 
of  overthrown  pyramids. 

In  the  cavernous  recesses  of  these  rocks  the  bear  had  sought 
refuge ;  and  the  hunters,  rushing  up,  found  the  dogs  barking 
at  the  mouth  of  an  extemporized  den. 

It  was  a  dismal  cavity,  running  between  and  beneath  the 
irregularly  tumbled  masses.  An  ice-cold  stream  flowed  out 
of  it.  From  dark  chambers,  where  the  winter's  accumulated 
frosts  never  failed,  an  atmosphere  of  arctic  death  breathed 
chill  in  the  face  of  the  warm  and  living  day.  At  the  entrance 
the  dogs  voiced  their  fury  and  fear,  not  daring  to  penetrate  the 
horrid  hole. 

Madison,  with  pitchfork  and  pistol,  was  on  the  spot  almost 
as  soon  as  Guy.  But  Aaron  ploughed  his  way  more  slowly, 
with  Archy  in  his  wake.  Jehiel  and  two  or  three  others  came 


180  THE     BEAR-HUNT. 

by  a  more  circuitous  route,  frequented  by  visitors  who  flocked 
thither  to  find  ice  in  midsummer,  climb  the  Titanic  stairs,  and 
scratch  their  names  among  the  leathery  lichens  that  incrust 
their  ancient  surfaces. 

Guy  drove  back  the  dogs,  and  asked  the  hunters  what  was 
to  be  done. 

"  I  believe  I  can  see  thecus,"  was  Mad's  profane  remark, 
peering  into  the  den,  with  his  hands  and  feet  in  the  water. 

"  Go  in  and  ketch  him  by  the  legs,  and  I'll  take  you  by 
the  legs  and  haul  you  both  out,"  said  Aaron.  "  Or,  if  any- 
body'll  lift  the  eend  of  that  rock,  I'll  jump  in  and  ketch  your 
bear  myself;"  and  he  mopped  his  forehead  with  his  big  brown 
hand. 

"  That  rock  is  just  about  the  size  of  my  kitchen,"  remarked 
Jehiel. 

"Which  you  expect  you'll  be  cooking  some  of  that  bear- 
steak  in  to-morrow  morning;  but  you  won't,"  said  Aaron. 
"  I  move  that  we  give  up  the  brute,  and  go  and  find  Biddi- 
kin's  money  at  the  top  of  the  rocks.  They  say  you  can  see 
it,  provided  you're  a  medium  ;  and  it  only  needs  a  little  dig 
ging  to  get  it." 

"  I  imagine,"  said  Guy,  "  it  will  be  easier  and  more  profita 
ble  to  get  the  bear  than  the  money.  He  is  in  a  corner  at  the 
end  of  this  rock, — just  where  a  bullet  won't  reach  him." 

"  Give  me  five  dollars,"  said  Mad  with  an  oath,  "  and  I'll 
go  in  and  shoot  him  !  " 

"  He  would  hug  you  to  death  before  you  could  pull  a  trig 
ger." 


THE    BEAR-HUNT.  181 

"  Five  dollars  would  more  than  pay  the  damage,  though," 
was  Aaron's  suggestion ;  which  elicited  from  Mad  one  of  his 
very  disagreeable,  murderous  looks. 

"You  better  dry  up,"  said  he,  "or  there'll  be  damages 
five  dollars  won't  pay." 

"  Keep  your  temper,  boy!  "  said  Guy,  "  and  give  me  the 
pitchfork." 

"  You  better  take  the  pistol;  he'll  be  shooting  somebody 
with  it,"  said  Aaron,  delighting  to  exasperate  the  Biddikin 
youth,  the  two  having  been  together  enough  to  hate  each 
other  cordially. 

Guy  explored  the  den,  and  verified  his  conjecture  regarding 
Bruin's  position  by  eliciting  a  fierce  growl,  and  having  the 
fork  nearly  knocked  from  his  grasp  as  he  thrust  it  towards 
the  hidden  corner. 

"What  did  you  come  out  for?"  laughed  Aaron.  "I 
wouldn't  come  out  without  the  bear." 

*'  No :  you  would  come  out  with  the  bear  a  good  deal 
faster  than  you  went  in  !  " 

The  dogs  in  the  mean  time  were  climbing  about  the  rocks 
to  find  another  entrance  to  Bruin's  retreat.  Guy  followed 
them. 

"  What  a  place  this  would  be  for  a  fellow  to  hide  when 
officers  was  after  him !  "  said  Mad,  with  a  gloating  grin  at  the 
piled  acres  of  rocks. 

"  Look  out  you  don't  ever  have  to  try  it,"  said  Aaron. 

"  There's  holes  up  there  he  could  slip  down  in,  where  no 


182  THE     BEAR-HUNT. 

beef-fed  constable  could  get  at  him,"  young  Biddikin  added, 
with  a  fire  in  his  eyes  that  betokened  a  vivid  imagination  of 
some  such  scene. 

Now,  Aaron,  with  his  burly  proportions,  happened  also  to 
be  a  constable. 

"  You  may  wish  that  beef-fed  constables  was  skurcer  than 
they  be,  some  day  !  "  he  retorted. 

"  I'd  be  a  tougher  customer  than  the  bear  to  deal  with  !  " 
Mad  answered. 

And  so  they  continued  to  jest,  rather  earnestly ;  little 
guessing  what  realities,  in  the  not  far  future,  their  blind  words 
were  blundering  upon. 

"  Pass  me  my  rifle,"  said  Guy,  standing  waist-deep  be 
tween  rocks,  beneath  which  he  had  found  a  crevice  that 
would  admit  a  gun-barrel.  He  took  his  piece,  and  carefully 
thrust  it  down  out  of  sight.  "  That  muzzle  isn't  far  from 
Bruin's  corner ;  and,  if  nobody  has  any  better  plan,  I  propose 
to  fire." 

"  Archy  says  he  can  set  a  trap  that'll  catch  him  when  he 
comes  out,  if  we'll  wait,"  said  Jehiel. 

But  Guy  preferred  to  try  what  virtue  there  was  in  powder, 
and  directed  the  men  to  range  themselves,  with  levelled  guns, 
in  readiness  for  the  bear,  in  case  he  should  be  started. 

"  All  ready  !  "  said  the  men  in  a  row. 

Then  Guy  reached  down  to  the  rifle-lock,  and  touched  it. 

A  subterranean  report  was  heard,  followed  by  a  snarl  of 
rage  and  a  plashing  in  the  water ;  when  instantly  out  from 


THE     BEAR-HUNT.  183 

his  icy  den  rushed  Bruin,  right  through  the  rank  of  hunters, 
and  into  the  brush,  before  a  gun  was  fired. 

The  dogs  were  at  him  immediately,  close  and  savage,  but 
doing  him  little  harm,  while  they  shielded  him  from  shot. 

"Well  done,  boys!"  said  Guy  sarcastically.  "Why 
didn't  you  hold  on  to  him,  Aaron  ?  " 

"  His  hair  was  short,"  said  Aaron  (who  had  fallen),  awk 
wardly  regaining  his  feet  and  his  gun. 

The  chase  recommenced.  Across  the  thicket's  edge,  and 
aslant  up  the  mountain-side,  through  stunted  growths  of 
birch  and  fir,  over  waste  spaces  blackened  by  devastating 
fires,  stretching  southward  to  higher  and  higher  altitudes, 
scaling  ledges,  breaking  through  briers  and  brushwood,  went 
the  powerful  and  ferocious  beast.  He  tossed  the  dogs  from 
him,  and  made  them  howl.  Blackfoot  went  rolling  with  sharp 
yelps  down  a  bare  shelf  of  rock,  alighting  in  a  tree-top.  The 
hunters  climbed  as  best  they  could  in  the  toilsome  chase ; 
making  a  foothold  of  every  root  and  stone,  and  often  hauling 
themselves  up  by  the  boughs  of  trees  in  steep  places.  As 
they  advanced,  the  mountain  rounded,  and  travel  became  less 
perilous  and  rough,  until,  a  thousand  feet  above  the  valley,  a 
magnificent  summit  was  attained. 

Due  east  across  the  bald  mountain-top  Bruin  journeyed ; 
then  doubled  towards  the  north,  down  a  gradual  descent,  en 
tering  a  vast  green  wilderness,  in  the  midst  of  which  glim 
mered  a  broken  sheet  of  water.  It  was  a  mile-long  lake, 
stretching  north  and  south  along  the  hollow  of  the  range ;  lift 
ed  like  a  cup  to  the  blue  sky. 


184  THE     BEAR-HUNT. 

"  If  he  swims  that  pond,"  said  Jehiel,  "  we  shall  lose  him. 
He  is  making  straight  for  it !  " 

"And  so  are  we,"  answered  Guy.  "The  dogs  worry 
him  now  :  they  have  learned  his  style  of  fight.  He  is  losing 
blood  fast !  We  are  gaining  on  him  !  We  shall  shoot  him  in 
the  water!  " 

But,  before  the  water  was  reached,  Bruin,  weary,  wounded, 
bewildered,  having  distanced  the  dogs  for  a  moment,  suc 
cumbed  to  temptation.  A  friendly-seeming  tree  was  at 
hand.  Was  it  a  bright  idea,  or  the  last  resort  of  a  desperate, 
disheartened  bear,  to  hug  that  sturdy  trunk  in  his  arms,  and 
work  his  way  up  quickly  beyond  the  reach  of  canine  fangs  ? 

It  is  done  !  Bruin  is  lodged  in  a  maple  crotch,  twenty 
feet  from  the  ground,  with  a  horrible,  howling  dog-dance  be 
neath  him,  when  the  hunters  arrive. 

"  Don't  shoot  with  that  pop-gun,  you  idiot  !  "  said  Guy,  as 
Mad  was  about  to  fire  his  pistol  at  the  black,  shaggy  mass 
laid  up  along  the  limb.  "  Wait  till  the  rest  are  ready,  and 
let  all  fire  at  once/  He  must  be  dead  when  he  conies  down, 
or  there'll  be  danger." 

Only  Guy,  Jehiel,  and  Aaron  had  kept  up  with  them. 
But  now  another  appeared. 

"  Well  done,  Archy  !    What  have  you  got  in  your  gun  ?  " 

"  Jehiel  gi'  me  a  musket-ball,"  panted  Archy. 

"  That's  well.  We  won't  wait  for  the  rest.  Choose  your 
positions."  All  were  soon  ready.  Four  gun-barrels  and  a 
pistol  were  aimed  upwards.  Guy  gave  the  word  :  "One  — 
two  — fire!" 


THE     BEAU. HUNT.  185 

The  volley  echoed  through  the  woods.  But  only  from  the 
pistol  and  two  guns  curled  any  smoke.  Guy's  and  Jehiel's 
pieces  had  missed  fire.  Bruin  did  not  stir. 

"  Never  touched  him,  by  thunder !  "  exclaimed  Mad. 

"  My  musket  never  was  worth  a  cent  to  shoot  up  with; 
the  flint  won't  throw  fire  into  the  pan,"  said  the  vexed  Je- 
hiel. 

Guy,  having  snapped  again,  impatiently  tore  the  inexplo- 
sive  cap  from  his  gun  to  replace  it  with  a  fresh  one,  still 
keeping  his  eye  on  the  bear. 

"  Stand  from  under  !  "  he  shouted  to  Mad.  "  He  is  be 
ginning  to  slide  !  Here  he  comes  !  " 

Slowly  slipped  the  shaggy  mass  from  the  limb,  half  revolv 
ing  in  the  air  as  it  came  down,  and  smiting  the  ground  with 
a  resounding  jar.  The  dogs  darted  aside,  and  leaped  upon 
him  instantly.  But,  though  momentarily  stunned,  neither  his 
wounds  nor  his  tremendous  fall  had  finished  him.  Turning 
on  his  haunches,  breathing  snarls  of  rage,  his  mouth  covered 
with  foam  and  gore,  he  flung  right  and  left  with  paws  and 
jaws  whenever  he  was  attacked. 

Guy  levelled  at  his  heart,  and  fired.  Straight  at  him,  on 
the  instant,  rushed  the  infuriate  beast.  In  vain  the  dogs 
beset  him.  In  vain  Jehiel's  musket,  good  for  a  level  shot, 
being  newly  primed,  sent  an  ounce-ball  into  his  neck.  Guy 
leaped  behind  a  tree-trunk,  and  drew  his  knife. 

"  The  fork  !  "  said  Jehiel ;  and,  snatching  it  from  Mad's 
hands,  he  flew  to  the  rescue,  driving  the  tines  deep  into  the 
monster's  flank. 


THE     BEAR. HUNT. 

That  saved  Guy.  The  bear  turned.  Bruce,  encouraged 
by  the  hunters,  sprang  at  hi*  throat.  The  next  moment,  the 
raj?h  dog  was  yelling  in  a  deadly  embrace.  It  would  have 
been  all  over  with  him  soon  ;  but  Guy  leaped  upon  the  enemy 
with  hb>  knife,  which  he  buried  to  the  hilt  in  his  side. 

The  desperate  animal,  releasing  Bruce,  made  a  blind  and 
ineffectual  dash  at  Guy,  who  sprang  away,  bearing  his  drip 
ping  knife  ;  then  giving  bid  tormentors  a  last  look,  pitiful  to 
witness  but  for  the  pMnimiitO  eagerness  with  which  they 
Bought  the  life  dear  even  to  a  bear,  he  burst  away  from  them 
with  all  his  remaining  strength,  and  took  to  flight. 

The  dogs  were  now  mostly  disabled,  and  he  scarcely  heed 
ed  their  onsets.  Obdurate,  ferocious,  drunken  with  rage  and 
wounds,  he  tore  through  the  woods  towards  the  lake,  streak 
ing  the  ground  with  his  blood.  Jehiel  followed  him  close 
with  the  fork. 

*•  Let  him  alone  !  "  bhouted  Guy,  reloading  his  rifle  as  he 
ran.  "He  L$  a  butchered  bear:  he'll  die  in  the  water. 
Let  him  go  !  "  for  he  knew  well  the  danger,  should  the  beast 
in  his  last  agony  turn  on  his  friend. 

Jehiel  desisted  ;  and  Bruin,  reeling,  snorting  blood,  wal 
lowed  off  into  the  water  with  the  dogs. 

At  that  moment  a  volley  of  feminine  screams  went  up 
from  the  shore,  not  far  off.  Guy  looked  in  their  direction, 
and  saw  through  the  trees,  on  a  point  of  the  beach,  a  group 
of  women.  They  could  hardly  have  reached  that  wild  spot 
by  land ;  and  the  idea  of  a  bo  at  immediately  suggested  itself. 


THE     BEAR-HUNT.  187 

He  ran  towards  them  out  of  the  woods,  and  saw  the  thing  he 
wanted,  drawn  upon  the  sand.  He  called  to  them  not  to  be 
frightened,  and  sprang  into  it  as  he  pushed  it  off.  Jehiel 
came  after,  plashing  through  the  water,  and  threw  himself 
into  the  stern  as  it  veered  round. 

A  few  swift  strokes  brought  them  to  the  scene  of  the  bear's 
final  struggles.  He  was  fighting  the  dogs  in  the  water, 
which  all  around  him  was  bubbling,  and  stained  with  blood. 
Jehiel  took  the  oars ;  while  Guy,  stationed  in  the  bow,  pre 
pared  to  finish  the  fight.  He  first  drew  Blackfoot,  half 
drowned,  out  of  the  water.  Then,  to  make  a  speedy  end,  ho 
placed  his  rifle-muzzle  at  the  bear's  head,  and  fired  the  last 
shot.  The  slaughtered  brute  swam  round  and  round,  with 
feeble  plunges,  in  a  streaked  and  foaming  eddy,  his  loose 
floating  hair  making  him  appear  as  large  as  two  bears. 

"  It  is  over !  "  said  Guy.  He  pierced  the  shaggy  hide  with 
the  fork,  holding  the  head  submerged,  and  pushing  the 
unwieldy  carcass  before  them  as  Jehiel  rowed  shorewards. 
Then,  leaving  his  companions  to  drag  it  out  upon  the  beach, 
he  rowed  back  to  the  point  from  which  he  had  taken  the 
boat. 

The  ladies  had  by  this  time  been  joined  by  some  gentle 
men  from  the  woods ;  and  Guy  was  astonished  to  find  him 
self  among  people  he  recognized. 

A  small  number  of  spiritualists  were  having  a  picnic  on 
the  lake-shore ;  and  it  seemed  something  more  than  chance 


188  THE     BEAR-HUNT. 

which  had  led  him  so  unexpectedly  and  so  strangely  into  the 
very  company  which  Lucy  had  made  him  solemnly  promise 
to  avoid. 

" Fatality!  "  he  thought,  as  his  eyes  encountered  those  of 
the  seeress. 


OUT    RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT.          189 


XVL 

GUY  RETURNS    WITH  THE  BOAT. 

E  determined  not  to  land.  "  After  stealing  your 
boat,  I've  come  to  borrow  it.  We  have  a  rather 
large  quadruped  here,  which  we  want  to  ship  to 
the  end  of  the  tpond." 

The  loan  was  granted,  and  the  picnic-party  went  to  look 
at  the  bear.  Only  the  seeress  remained,  sitting  on  the  shore, 
watching  the  water,  apparently  indifferent  to  bear-hunters  and 
bears. 

"  Beautiful !  wonderful !  "  said  a  man  with  a  forked  switch 
in  his  hand,  poking  it  into  Bruin's  hair;  "but  how  much 
more  beautiful  and  wonderful  alive  !  How  could  the  brothers 
find  it  in  their  hearts  to  take  the  life  of  this  noble  creature  ?  " 
half  closing  one  eye,  with  a  look  of  solemn  moral  inquiry 
directed  at  Guy. 

"You  would  have  thought  him  wonderful,  though  maybe 
not  so  beautiful,  if  you  had  met  him  alone  in  the  woods," 
Guy  answered  pleasantly. 

"  Bears  have  a  way  of  gitting  outside  of  lambs  like  you, 
Mr.  Murk,"  said  Mad. 


190          GUY    RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT. 

4 '  Ah,  my  young  brother  !  Don't  you  recognize  the  young 
brother,  Sister  Lingham  ?  " 

"  Certingly,"  said  Sister  Lingham. 

"  These  folks  don't  know  how  wicked  I  be,  or  they  wouldn't 
call  me  brother,"  chuckled  the  youth. 

"  All  men  are  our  brothers ;  all  God's  creatures  are  our 
brothers,"  said  the  philanthropist.  "  That  bear  is  our  brother. 
We  love  him  ;  we  love  all.  Is  it  not  so,  Sister  Lingham  ?  " 

"  Certingly,"  smiled  Sister  Lingham. 

Aaron  was  disgusted.  "  We  loved  that  bear  to  death :  is 
that  the  way  you  love  your  brothers  ?  " 

Murk  regarded  him  with  his  most  phlegmatic  sapient  squint. 

"  I  think  I  recall  that  countenance.  A  very  material  bro 
ther,  Sister  Lingham ;  an  unbelieving  brother ;  who  upon  one 
occasion  was  urgently  advised  to  take  my  life :  but  still  my 
brother !  "  And  he  offered  his  hand,  which  Aaron  pressed 
somewhat  malevolently.  "Oh,  oh!"  —  the  philanthropist 
straightened  his  fingers  to  let  the  expelled  blood  circulate 
again.  "Very  cordial,  brother,  but  rather  too  much  of  a 
good  thing!  " 

"  Fact,"  said  Aaron  :  "  too  much  brotherly  love  gets  to  be 
a  leetle  disagreeable  sometimes.  So  I  guess  we  won't  shako 
hands  again  right  away,  brother !  " 

In  the  mean  time,  Archy,  finding  himself  in  the  society  of 
mediums,  showed  symptoms  of  jerking.  That  pleai*ed  Mr. 
Murk,  who  wagged  his  fist,  and  said  it  was  Swedenborg's 
wish  that  the  "  medium istic  brother"  should  remain.  But 


GUT    RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT.          191 

Guy  pushed  him  into  the  boat,  which  he  hastened  to  get  off 
with  its  load.  Mad  and  a  broken-legged  dog  accompanied 
them;  making,  together  with  the  bear,  a  quite  sufficient 
freight. 

Guy  nursed  poor  Ranger's  hurts,  while  his  companions 
plied  the  oars.  It  was  now  two  o'clock. 

"  I  tell  you  !  "  said  Archy,  "  I  wish  I  had  that  basket 
o'  berries  I  left  up  on  the  hill :  wouldn't  they  taste  good?  " 

"  'Most  any  thing  would  taste  good  jest  now,"  replied  Mad 
with  a  famished  expression.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had  Aaron's 
clo'eson!" 

"  Archy,"  said  Guy,  examining  the  bear's  wounda,  "you 
are  the  hero  of  the  day  :  you  drew  the  first  blood." 

"  Gracious  !  I  did,  didn't  I !  peppered  his  muzzle,  I  swan  ! 
Say,  didn't  I  shoot  within  a  mile  of  him  ?  "  Archy  appealed 
triumphantly  to  Mad,  who  sneeringly  replied  that  a  little 
charge  of  bird-shot  wasn't  any  thing. 

At  the  head  of  the  lake  the  bear  was  disembarked,  and  the 
boat  cleansed.  The  boys  had  done  their  share  of  rowing ; 
and  it  was  now  Guy's  turn. 

"  Get  a  wagon,  and  don't  wait  for  me,"  he  said,  as  he  set 
off. 

Archy  and  Mad,  leaving  Ranger  with  the  bear,  went  to  a 
farm-house  for  a  team,  whilst  Guy  returned  alone  with  the 
boat. 

Alone  on  that  lake  in  the  wilderness.  The  day  was  calm ; 
the  water  was  glassy  smooth.  Duplicate  woods  enclosed  it 


192          OUT     RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT. 

all  around,  —  foresto  above  the  surface,  an«l  frre-ts  inv 
below.     Not  a  bird  flew  over ;  not  a  fish  leaped ;  not  a  gound 
of  life,  save  the  oars  plashing  and  the  waves  lapping.     The 
excitement  of  the  chase  was  over ;  and  now  Guy  had  a  chance 
to  think. 

The  lake  was  long  and  narrow,  and  broken  into  straits 
and  inlets  by  low  jagged  shores.  It  seemed  the  loneliest  lake 
that  ever  was.  Here  dismal  ledges  just  put  their  dark  backs 
above  the  still  water.  All  up  and  down  the  beaches  were 
scattered  fragments  of  brown  stone,  that  gave  to  the  scene  a 
dreary  aspect  of  desolation.  Lines  of  flood-wood  lay  at  high- 
water  mark  around  the  shores,  whitening  in  the  sun.  The 
solitude  was  oppressive :  it  seemed  too  utterly  savage  and 
lonesome  even  for  the  heron  and  the  wild  drake. 

Guy  rowed  slowly  by  woody  points  and  little  sleeping 
coves ;  now  in  the  sun  which  burnished  the  lake  with  fire, 
and  now  under  the  cool  shadows  of  primeval  trees.  A  gloom 
was  on  his  spirit ;  and,  while  the  boat  seemed  floating  over  the 
craters  of  old  volcanoes,  he  felt  that  his  life  was  also  gliding 
upon  awful  abysses  glassed  over  with  transient  illusions. 

For  comfort,  he  reviewed  his  late  experiences  of  spirit- 
power,  which  had  at  other  times  filled  him  with  hope  and 
rcj<  'icing.  But  now  he  felt  only  doubts  and  vague  longings,  — 
a  faintness  and  gnawing  hunger  of  the  soul.  A  desire  to  be 
fed  with  fresh  experiences  burned  within  him.  Was  it  for 
that  purpose  that  the  Powers  which  ruled  his  life  had  brought 
him  here  ?  He  heard  voices,  ami,  glancing  over  liis  shoulder, 


OUY     RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT.          193 

saw  the  seeress  still  sitting  on  the  beach,  apart  from  her  com 
panions,  musing,  and  (something  whispered)  waiting  for 
him. 

But  he  remembered  Lucy,  her  fears,  and  his  sacred  prom 
ise. 

Strong  as  his  thirst  was  to  taste  once  more  the  wine  of 
spiritual  influence,  he  firmly  resolved  to  resist  it ;  and  ap 
proached  the  point,  fully  intending  to  return  the  boat,  and 
depart  as  soon  as  courtesy  would  permit. 

But  scarcely  had  the  bow  touched  the  sand,  when  some 
one  sprang  into  it. 

"  Push  off  again  !  "  was  spoken  rather  imperiously  by  a 
well-remembered  voice. 

Guy  felt  a  strange  excitement  throb  through  his  nerves. 
He  was  alone  with  the  seeress.  There  was  fascination  in  the 
thought.  But  Lucy  ?  He  hesitated. 

"  Do  as  I  say  !  won't  you?  I  have  been  waiting  all  this 
time.  It  is  what  I  came  here  to-day  for  :  I  knew  you  would 
be  here.  Quick,  before  any  one  comes  !  "  And,  as  he  still 
declined  to  act,  she  seized  an  oar,  and  pushed  off  the  boat. 

"When  Mad  and  Archy  came  with  the  wagon,  they  found 
four  hunters  sitting  around  the  bear  on  the  beach,  talking 
over  the  adventure. 

"  Where  is  your  pitchfork?  "  asked  Aaron. 

"  Didn't  some  one  bring  it?  "  said  Mad  with  angry  sur 
prise.  "  Jehiel  had  it;  so  did  Guy." 

13 


194          OUT     RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT. 

"  But  you  took  it  afterwards,  and  threw  it  to  sec  it  stick 
in  the  sand,"  said  Jehiel. 

Muttering  with  discontent,  but  hoping  that  he  should  meet 
Guy  bringing  the  fork,  Mad  hurried  back  through  the  woods. 

The  others  did  not  wait,  but,  finding  that  they  had  more 
than  a  wagon-load  of  bear  and  dogs  and  men,  set  off  for 
town.  At  every  house,  they  had  to  stop  and  exhibit  their 
prize. 

"  What  a  monster!  "  said  little  Doctor  Biddikin,  perching 
bareheaded  on  a  wagon-wheel,  and  looking  over.  "Most 
extraordinary  !  It  is  the  largest  bear  I  ever  sor !  How 
did  you  kill  him?" 

"  He  got  at  the  least  ca'c'lation  six  bullets  and  a  knifo 
into  him,  —  not  to  speak  of  the  dogs,  —  'fore  he  give  up," 
said  Aaron.  "  Bears  are  awful  contrary  'bout  dyin'." 

"  Exceedingly  tenacious  of  life,"  said  the  doctor.  "  You 
must  give  me  a  piece  of  the  meat." 

"  You  shall  have  some,  if  only  for  that  boy's  sake,"  — 
Aaron  gave  a  compassionating  glance  at  poor  little  Job. 
"  He  is  starved  !  " 

"Starved?  that  boy?  Job  starved?"  The  wee  man 
straightened  himself  on  the  wagon-wheel,  with  his  skinny 
neck  outstretched,  as  if  he  was  going  to  flap  his  arms,  and 
crow.  "  Starved,  indeed  !  If  you  could  see  him  at  his  din 
ner  !  He  is  an  enormous  eater !  an  enormous  eater  !  Ain't 
you,  Job  ?  Tell  the  truth,  Job  !  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  drawled  the  little  wretch  with  a  sickly,  inane 
smile. 


GUT     RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT.          1Q5 

"  Run  to  the  house,  Job,  and  bring  the  carving-knife  !  — 
An  enormous  eater  !  "  repeated  the  doctor.  "  You  must  cut 
us  a  very  large  piece,  Aaron.  But  a  bad  boy!  " — in  a 
whisper, —  "  a  very  bad  boy  !  untruthful,  very  untruthful !  " 

—  shaking  his  head  an«l   compressing  his  lips  significantly. 
"  He  tells  lies  !" 

"  He  has  told  one,"  said  Aaron.  "  If  I  should  say  I  was 
an  enormous  eater,  now," — swelling  his  great  chest, — "  folks 
might  believe  me.  But  that  boy  !  or  you,  Doctor  Biddikin  !  " 

—  and  he  humorously  took  the   little  man  under  his  arm, 
lifted  him  from  the  wheel,  and  set  him  softly,  as  if  he  had 
been  an  infant,  upon  the  ground.     "  Poor  as  ever,  I  see  !  " 
he  laughed ;  while  all  laughed  with  him,  except  the  doctor, 
who  pat  his  hands  together,  with  a  smirk  of  offended  dignity, 
and  leaned  forward  on  his  precise  toes,  saying,  — 

"  You  can  hardly  call  a  man  poor  who  owns  the  largest  for 
tune,  probably,  in  the  State." 

"I  meant  poor  in  the  ribs,"  replied  Aaron,  preparing  to 
drive  on.  "  We  all  know  what  a  millionnaire  you  be;  but 
you  haven't  the  heft  of  a  wisp  of  hay." 

"  I  am  a  wronged  and  distressed  man;  I  confess  that," 
said  the  doctor  tremulously.  "I  am  a  victim  of  plots. 
You  have  wiled  my  son  away,  my  Madison,"  —  he  shook 
his  shrivelled  head  with  grief  and  resentment,  —  "and  you 
keep  him  from  me  by  your  plots  and  deceits  !  " 

Aaron  laughed.  "  Can't  cut  the  bear  now,  doctor,"  he 
said,  and  drove  on.  But  Jehiel  remained  behind  to  speak  a 
comforting  word  to  the  poor  old  man. 


196          OUT    RETURNS     WITH     TBE     BOAT. 

"  Nobody  keeps  my  son  from  me,  do  you  say  ?  Don't  you 
believe  that !  He  were  always  one  of  the  most  dutiful  boys, 
save  when  he  were  led  away  by  others.  My  heart  is  well- 
nigh  broken.  If  you  see  him,  do  send  him  home  :  influence 
him  to  come  back,  if  you  can.  Awl  see  that  I  have  a  piece 
of  that  bear,  won't  you?  And,  wait  a  moment !  "  —  myste 
riously  :  "  can't  you  lend  me  a  couple  of  shillings  for  a  few 
days?" 

Out  of  pity,  Jehiel  gave  him  what  change  he  had,  and  hur 
ried  on. 

"  Tint's  the  talk  !  Laugh  Jack  !  "  impishly  screamed 
the  crow  from  the  eaves. 

"  Stop  your  noise,  Jack  !  " 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  said  Jack. 

Angry  at  he  knew  not  what,  the  doctor  looked  round  for 
something  to  throw  at  the  saucy  bird.  His  eyes  lighted 
upon  poor  little  Job  standing  in  the  door-yard,  with  fear  in 
his  face,  and  a  carving  implement  in  his  hand. 

"  Ha!  come  here,  sir  !  "  Biddikin  concluded  that  it  was 
Job  he  was  angry  at,  and  not  the  crow.  "  Why  didn't  you 
bring  that  knife  before  ?  What  did  you  come  out  and  show 
yourself  to  the  men  for,  and  get  me  insulted  ?  You  villain  !  " 
He  took  him  by  the  car,  which  was  conveniently  long  in  con 
sequence  of  frequent  and  very  thorough  stretching,  and  led 
hiui  by  that  appendage  into  the  house. 

Madison  came  presently  clown  the  road,  and  partly  be 
cause  he  heard  Job  scream,  but  chiefly  because  he  was  hun 
gry,  resolved  to  give  his  parent  a  call. 


GUT     RETURNS      WITH     THE     BOAT.          197 

"  Hello  !  "  he  shouted,  bursting  into  the  room  where  Job 
was  undergoing  fustigation. 

Biildikin  started  with  alarm  ;  but  the  crow,  flying  in  with 
the  visitor,  cried  jubilantly,  — 

"  Mad's  come  home  !    Laugh,  Jack  !    Ha,  ha  !  ha,  ha  !  " 

Upon  which  the  doctor,  recognizing  his  affectionate  boy, 
rushed  to  embrace  him. 

"  Look  out  there  !  "  said  Mad  in  his  rowdy ish  guttural : 
"  you'll  git  hooked  with  the  little  horns  !  "  And  he  aimed 
the  pitchfork  at  the  paternal  bosom. 

"  Madison  !   my  son  !  my  long-lost,  my  darling  boy!  is  it 

you?" 

-Wai,  I  bet!" 

"  Give  me  one  embrace  !  " 

"  Not  a  darned  embrace  !  " 

"  Madison  !  my  son  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  gibbered  Bid 
dikin.  "  What  for  do  you  come  at  me  with  a  fork  ?  " 

"  What  for  did  you  go  at  that  boy  with  a  club  ?  " 

"I  —  I  were  just  threatening  him." 

"You  struck  him!  —  Job,"  said  the  junior,  "didn't  he 
strike  you?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  gasped  poor  little  Job. 

"  Job  !  "  cried  the  senior,  "dare  you  say  I  struck  you?  " 

"  N-o-o  !  "  gasped  poor  little  Job. 

"  Job,  look  here  !  didn't  I  see  him  strike  you  with  that 
broom-stick?" 

"  Y-a-a-s !  "  faltered  the  terrified  Job. 


198          GUY    RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT. 

"  Job,  speak  the  tnith  !  "  vociferated  the  doctor  menacing 
ly  :  "  did  I  strike  you  with  the  broomstick  ?  " 

"  N-o-o  !  "  said  Job. 

"  There  !  now  remember,"  cried  Biddikin  :  "  once  for  all, 
did  I  strike  you?" 

Job  caught  the  junior's  eye,  and,  concluding  that  he  was 
most  to  be  feared,  gasped  out,  — 

"  Y-a-a-s  ! " 

"  You  mean,"  cried  the  senior,  "that  you  deserted  to  be 
struck." 

"  Y-a-a-s,"  came  feebly  from  the  boy's  starved  and  bewil 
dered  soul. 

"  What  for  did  you  deserve  it?  " 

"  For  telling  lies,"  he  answered  like  a  child  reciting  his 
catechism  under  trying  circumstances. 

"  And  what  do  we  do  with  bad  boys  that  tell  lies?  " 

"  Lick  'em !  "  was  the  correct  response. 

"Ha,  ha!  lick  'em  !  "  screamed  Jack. 

"And  what  becomes  of  bad  boys  that  tell  lies,  when  they 
die?" 

"Go  to  hell !  "  was  the  formal  answer. 

"  Go  to  hell !  "  screamed  Jack. 

"  And  what  becomes  of  old  sinners  who  learn  'em  to  tell 
lies?"  demanded  Mad  in  great  wrath  and  disgust.  "You 
treat  that  boy  just  as  you  used  to  me.  You  licked  me  one 
day  for  lying,  and  the  next  for  not  lying,  Do  you  wonder 
I  despise  and  hate  you  ?  —  you  stuffed  mouse-skin !  you 


OUT     RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT.          199 

galvanized  toadstool !     I'm  bad  enough,  thanks  to  you ;  but 
I  swear  I'll  take  Job's  part.      Come  here,  Job  !  " 

Job  started  timorously. 

"  Don't  you  go,  Job  !  "  Job  started  back  with  a  gasp. 
"  You've  no  business  with  Job." 

"Haven't  I?  What'll  become  of  him  then?  What  be 
come  of  t'other  boy?"  asked  the  junior  with  the  expression 
of  a  laughing  hyena.  "Say,  you  dressed-up  drumstick! 
what  become  of  Martin  ?  " 

Biddikin  recoiled  before  that  keen,  knowing,  savage,  mali 
cious  look. 

"Martin  —  he  ran  away;  you  know,  you  know,  he  ran 
away  !  " 

"That  skeleton  of  a  boy,  with  them  legs  of  his,  run 
away?  "  jeered  the  junior.  "  Look  here  !  "  —  he  lifted  his 
malign,  accusatory  finger,  —  "I  know  as  well  as  you  that  he 
never  left  this  house." 

"  'Sh  !  "  interposed  the  excited  senior.  "  Job,  Job,  go  to 
the  woods  for  chips,  right  away."  He  thrust  the  boy  out. 
"  Madison,  why  do  you  talk  in  this  insane  manner?  " 

"  'Cause  I  know  !  and,  if  you  don't  take  care,  I'll  blow  on 
you  !  " 

' '  I  thought  you  had  more  sense  than  to  catch  up  what 
that  reckless  medium  said  !  " 

"  'Twan't  what  she  said,  but  the  way  you  looked,  that  told 
the  story." 

"  I  looked  !  "  articulated  the  frightened  little  man,"  did  I  — 
did  others  notice?  " 


200          OUT    RETURNS     WITH     THE     BOAT. 

"  They  might,  if  they  had  suspected  what  I  did." 

"  It's  all  wrong  :  there  is  nothing  in  it,  I  assure  you  !  "  said 
Biddikin  most  emphatically.  "  And  you  must  take  caro 
what  you  say,  or  you'll  make  mischief." 

"  Wai,  I  ain't  going  to  kick  up  a  row :  only  let  Job  alone, 
and  give  me  something  to  eat,"  said  Madison. 

"That  sounds  like  my  son !  Sit  down  :  I'll  see  what  I've 
got."  Biddikin  ransacked  an  empty  cupboard  "  Come 
now,  Madison,  stay  at  home  :  we'll  live  like  princes  here,  — 
like  princes  !  "  — bringing  forth  a  piece  of  cold  corn-cake. 

"Like  princes!"  echoed  Mad  with  scornful  laughter. 
"  And  is  this  the  grub  of  princes?  "  blowing  the  unsavory 
crumbs  from  his  lips,  with  intent  to  hit  the  paternal  face. 

"They  have  promised  me  five  dollars  a  week  to  live  on 
while  they  are  digging,  and  a  quarter  of  the  money  found, 
if  I  will  only  sign  papers,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I've  stood 
out  so  far.  I  know  too  much  for  'em.  I'm  suspicious  of 
papers.  They  have  got  six  thousand  dollars  pledged,  and  they 
are  only  waiting  for  me.  I  think  I  may  consent." 

"  Oh,  what  a  fool  if  you  don't !  "  cried  the  junior.  "  Five 
dollars  a  week  !  " 

"  And  a  quarter  of  the  money  :  that'll  be  a  brilliant  for 
tune,  a  very  brilliant  fortune  !  —  What's  that?" 

"  A  pop-gun  Guy  let  me  take.  I  want  to  hide  it.  'Twill 
come  in  use  some  time.  I'll  tell  him  it's  lost."  And  Madi 
son  concealed  the  pistol  in  a  comer  of  the  cupboard. 

"It  will  be  safe  there:  I  won't  say  a  word,"  said  the 


GUT    RETURN'S     WITH     THE     BOAT.          201 

doctor  with  a  shrewd  smile.  "  Come,  my  son !  won't  you 
stay  ?  Haven't  you  got  tired  of  being  a  servant  and  degrad 
ing  yourself?  " 

"  When  you  are  having  your  five  dollars  a  week,  and  can 
afford  better  fodder  than  this,  then'll  be  time  for  you  to  talk." 
And  shouldering  his  fork,  in  spite  of  threats  and  importuni 
ties,  the  youth  put  his  cap  saucily  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
and  went  off,  swaggering,  and  munching  johnny-cake. 

The  bear  had  by  this  time  arrived  at  Jehiel's  house.  Mrs. 
Hedge  saw  her  husband,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  But 
Lucy's  heart  contracted ;  for,  among  all  the  hunters  returning 
safe  to  their  homes  with  their  trophy,  she  could  not  see  her 
lover. 

Did  he  not  know  how  anxious  she  would  be  ?  and  would 
he  not  hasten  to  re-assure  her  if  he  was  unhurt  ?  Surely ; 
else  he  did  not  love  her. 

Hannah  set  out  bread  and  milk  and  berries  for  her  hus 
band's  refreshment.  As  he  ate,  he  related  the  adventures  of 
the  day.  Whilst  he  was  talking,  he  happened  to  look  out, 
and  saw  young  Biddikin  going  by  with  his  pitchfork. 

"  Perhaps  Mad  has  seen  him  !"  He  ran  to  the  door. 
"  Hello,  Biddikin  !  Where's  Guy  ?  " 

"In  a  fancy  place!"  Mad  laughed,  and  entered  the 
yard. 

"Did  you  see  him  when  you  went  back?"  Jehiel  in 
quired,  while  Lucy  listened. 

"  Wai,  I  bet !     And  wished  I  was  where  he  was."     See- 


202          GUY    RETURNS     WITH     TUB     BOAT. 

ing  indications  of  something  to  eat,  Mad  came  boldly  into  the 
house.  He  was  a  little  abashed  at  sight  of  Lucy,  whom  he 
addressed,  however,  with  off-hand  politeness  as  he  sat  down. 
"  I  guess,"  said  he,  "I  may  as  well  hold  my  tongue  about 
Guy  !  "  significantly  alluding  to  her  interest  in  him. 

"Is  he  coming  home  ?  " 

"I  don't  see  it !  "  Biddikin  chuckled.  "Not  right 
away,  I  guess !  Oh,  that  young  woman  has  got  a  devil  in 
her  !  Did  you  see  how  she  looked  at  him  ?  Don't  care  if  I 
do  take  a  bowl  of  milk !  Guy  see  her  over  to  our  house 
when  we  had  a  setting  there.  She  baited  her  hook  for  him 
then  :  I  had  my  eyes  peeled !  Wai,  berries  be  good ! " 
and  he  helped  himself  liberally. 

Jehiel  and  his  wife  wished  him  a  thousand  miles  away. 
But  he  remained,  eating  without  invitation,  and  talking  with 
out  being  questioned. 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  where  Guy  was  when  I  went  for  the 
fork.  He  was  in  the  boat.  Good  reason  why  he  wanted  to 
take  it  back  there  !  Sly,  Guy  is !  He  was  having  a  fancy 
time ;  bet  yer  life  on  that !  Who  do  ye  s'pose  was  with 
him  ?  'Twas  the  young  woman  with  the  devil  in  her !  Ha, 
ha,  ha  !  " 

Lucy  vanished  from  the  room  like  a  ghost. 


CHRISTINA.  —  LUCY.  203 


XVII. 

CHRISTINA.  —LUCY. 

IQUED  at  Guy's  hesitancy,  the  seeress  with  a 
petulant  gesture  tossed  back  the  oar. 

"  You  are  not  a  very  gallant  youth,  Mr.  Ban- 
nington  !  " 

"  You  are  an  exceedingly  charming  woman,  Miss  Freze  !  " 

"  What  do  you  tell  me  that  for  ?  " 

"  To  win  a  reputation  for  gallantry  !  " 

She  regarded  him  with  a  very  slight  disdainful  curl  of  her 
imperious  lip. 

"  You  don't  wish  to  accompany  me  ?     Speak  honestly  !  " 

"  Honestly,  then,  I  am  tired." 

-Is  that  all?" 

"  And  hungry." 

He  folded  his  arms  gravely.  The  boat  was  floating  from 
the  shore.  For  a  minute  she  remained  silent,  fixing  her 
dilating  eyes  upon  him,  as  if  she  would  drink  the  inmost 
meaning  of  his  soul.  Then,  with  a  wilful,  radiant  laugh,  she 
shook  her  jewelled  finger  at  him  :  — 


204  CHRISTINA.  —  LUCT. 

V  For  one  hour  you  are  mine  !  If  you  are  tired,  I  can  row. 
If  you  are  hungry,  I  have  secret  bread  reserved  for  this 
emergency  ; "  and  she  uncovered  cheese  and  sandwiches  in 
a  napkin. 

He  took  the  napkin ;  she  took  the  oars.  The  delicate  but 
vigorous  little  hands  managed  them  not  unskilfully ;  and  with 
an  easy  motion  the  boat  glided  through  water  smooth  as  satin, 
under  the  cool  green  forest-shadows. 

"  If  ever  I  determine  on  suicide,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  come 
and  throw  myself  into  this  lake." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Guy;  "  for  that  would  give  a  fine  finish 
ing  touch  to  its  weird  and  sombre  character.  '  Suicide 
Pond,'  —  that  would  sound  well.  What  is  your  given 
name?" 

"  Christina." 

"The  place  where  you  throw  yourself  in  shall  be  called 
' Christinas  Leap.'  I'll  see  to  it." 

She  leaned  over  the  side,  gazing  down  intently,  and  speak 
ing  with  melancholy  softness. 

"  It  looks  cool  and  pleasant  in  there  ;  and  life  is  feverish 
and  bitter.  What  is  there  to  keep  one  here  in  this 
world?" 

44  There  is  a  good  deal  to  keep  me,"  Guy  answered.  "  I 
sometimes  think  the  mere  breath  of  life  is  joy  enough.  This 
wild  nature,  with  its  clouds,  its  waters,  its  crags,  fills  me  full 
and  full !  I've  not  done  with  it  yet :  there's  juice  left  and 
wild  honey !  Even  this  sandwich  is  a  solid  satisfaction." 


CHRISTINA. LUCY.  205 

"  You  are  in  the  external  yet,"  she  replied.  "You  will 
some  time  get  beyond  that,  and  feel  as  I  do." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  have  progressed  a  good  deal  beyond 
me.  I  find  a  vast  amount  of  cant  and  spiritual  self-conceit 
among  mediums,  which  I  hoped  you  were  free  from.  '  You 
are  in  the  external  yet ;  when  you  have  had  certain  experi 
ences  I  have  had,  when  you  have  progressed  to  a  higher 
plane,  when  you  get  to  see  things  from  my  stand-point ; '  and 
so  forth." 

"  Let  me  say  what  is  true,  won't  you  ?  I  have  been  where 
you  are"  — 

"  That's  it,  that's  the  style !  "  said  Guy. 

"  The  world  was  as  much  to  me  as  it  is  to  you,"  she 
went  on,  regardless  of  his  sarcasm.  "  Arid,  even  now,  I  can 
laugh  and  dance  and  enjoy ;  but  the  only  real  consolation  I 
have  is  in  the  communion  of  spirits." 

"  The  communion  of  spirits  is  a  glorious  thing,  if  it  is  true ; 
because  it  demonstrates  that  life  is  perpetual ;  that  the  soul, 
and  love,  and  the  sense  of  joy  and  beauty,  do  not  cease  at 
death,  but  continue  forever." 

"  Then  what  is  the  fear  of  death  ?  Come,"  she  said  coax- 
ingly,  "  fall  overboard  with  me  !  I'll  do  it  I  " 

"  Thank  you,  I'd  rather  be  excused.  This  world  is  toler 
ably  well  got  up,  on  a  good  plan ;  and  I'm  not  so  sure  of 
being  ready  for  another.  I  am  a  child  yet:  here  I  have 
nestled  long,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  be  weaned  from  the 
familiar,  dear  old  bosom." 


206  CHRISTINA.  —  LUCY. 

"  You  will  talk  very  differently  a  year  from  now.  You 
will  be  a  tired  child  then,  and  ask  to  be  put  to  rest." 

"  Perhaps.  But,  for  the  present,  this  blue  roof  and  spa 
cious  play-ground  for  me  !  This  water,  this  air,  this  bread 
and  cheese,  suffice.  Nectar  and  ambrosia  by  and  by.  Hopes 
and  heart-beats,  questions  and  longings  of  the  soul,  the  end 
less  curiosity,  —  I  haven't  yet  lost  my  relish  for  these  :  have 
you?" 

"  What  is  all  that  without  companions?  "  she  replied. 

"  Have  you  none?" 

"  I  have  been  looking  longer  than  ever  Diogenes  did  for 
a  man  ;  "  she  gave  Guy  a  significant  glance.  "  I  wonder  if  I 
have  found  one  at  last." 

"  Don't  you  find  any  women?  " 

"I  hate  women!  " 

"  Indeed !  I  judged  as  much.  The  more  intensely 
woman  a  woman  is,  the  more  she  hates  her  own  sex,  I  believe. 
It  isn't  so  with  men  :  there  is  friendship  among  men." 

"  Do  you  know  what  has  brought  us  together  to-day,  Guy 
Bannington?" 

"  No ;  but  I  should  like  to  know." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  something  which  you  won't  laugh 
at.  It  was  written  through  my  hand  this  morning  that  I 
must  come  to  the  picnic,  and  that  I  should  meet  you  here." 

"  That  is  singular,"  said  Guy ;  "  for  I  have  not  been  near 
this  lake  for  a  year,  and  should  not  have  come  to-day  but  for 
the  bear." 


CHRISTINA.  —  LUCY.  207 

"  What  is  more  singular,"  replied  the  seeress,  "  upon  the 
same  paper  on  which  I  was  made  to  write  that,  I  drew  the 
picture  of  your  bear." 

"When  was  that?" 

"At  eight  o'clock  this  morning.  The  date  is  on  the  paper. 
The  paper  is  in  my  portfolio,  in  my  room  at  the  hotel." 

"  I  will  accompany  you  to  the  hotel,  enter  your  room  with 
you,  and  give  you  fifty  dollars  to  produce  that  paper !  " 

"  I'll  do  it  for  less  than  that.  Here  is  the  key  to  my 
portfolio.  You  shall  go  with  me,  and  open  it  if  you  will 
grant  me  one  little  favor." 

"What?" 

"I  don't  know  yet  what  it  will  be;  but  you  are  to 
promise." 

Guy  promised.  At  the  instant,  Lucy's  image  rose  before 
him,  pale,  beseeching,  sad. 

"  I  like  you,"  said  Christina,  moving  to  his  side.  "  Prim, 
conventional  people  are  the  death  of  me.  I  want  to  be 
lawless  :  I  want  the  companionship  of  lawless,  glorious  souls. 
You  will  let  me  do  as  I  please?  " 

"  Probably ;  for  I  am  very  amiable." 

' '  You  amiable  ?  You  are  violent,  impetuous,  domineering ; 
and  you  can  be  cruel." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  your  are  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"You  are  fitful,  fiery,  scornful;  and  you  can  be  vastly 
impudent." 


208  CHRISTINA.  —  LUCT. 

11  You  don't  dare  to  say  you  like  me  !  "  she  laughed. 

Guy  looked  grave.  He  didn't  answer.  His  thoughts 
were  far  away,  and  his  heart  was  troubled. 

Christina  sat  down  at  his  feet,  silent,  very  quiet.  Her 
breast  heaved  with  a  long,  deep  sigh.  Her  head  bent  pen 
sively  until  her  cheek  touched  his  knee.  In  spite  of  him 
self,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  something  more  than  interest,  —  a 
melting  sensation  towards  her,  tender  and  yearning. 

"  What  are  you  there  for?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

"  My  place  is  at  your  feet."  And  she  lifted  her  eyes  to 
his  face  with  a  burning  look,  full  of  wonder  and  worship. 

"  Christina  !  "  he  exclaimed,  trying  to  remove  her. 

In  vain :  she  kept  her  place. 

"  My  lord  and  my  king  !  "  she  said  with  upturned  face, 
and  such  a  smile  as  he  had  seen  upon  it  at  their  first  meeting, 
sweet,  enraptured,  divine. 

Late  that  evening,  Guy  mounted  the  dark  stairway  noise 
lessly,  opened  Lucy's  door,  and  entered.  No  light,  no  sound, 
within.  He  groped  his  way  to  the  bed-chamber,  and  passed 
his  hand  over  the  pillow.  It  had  not  been  pressed. 

"  Lucy  !  "  he  called;  and  the  roar  of  the  brook  in  the  mid 
night  answered  him. 

He  returned  to  the  little  sitting-room,  wondering,  listening, 
straining  his  eyes  in  the  darkness,  and  thinking  of  Lucy  with 
pity  and  repentance. 

"  Guy  !  "  breathed  a  faint  voice  from  the  sofa,  — a  tender, 
suffering,  and  loving  voice. 


CHRISTINA.  —  LUCY.  2$9 

He  knelt  by  her  side.  She  put  up  her  arms,  drew  his 
head  to  her  bosom,  and  burst  into  sobs  of  anguish. 

"  Don't  cry,  don't  cry,  Lucy  !  What  is  the  matter  ?  I 
am  here." 

"I  have  been  waiting  so  long,  so  long!"  She  wept, 
from  a  heart  wrung  with  misery.  "  Oh  !  how  could  you  leave 
me  so  ?  how  could  you  ?  I  thought  you  would  never  come 
again !  " 

"  Have  you  so  little  confidence  in  me?  "  said  Guy  softly. 

"  If  you  could  have  known  all  I  have  thought,  all  I  have 
felt,  this  long  day,  this  long,  long  night,"  she  broke  forth 
bitterly,  "you  surely  would  have  come!  But  you  were  in 
the  boat  with  that  woman,  and  I  was  forgotten  !  " 

That  was  a  stroke.  Guy  sat  chilled  and  dumb,  answering 
nothing.  Lucy  hushed  her  sobs,  waiting  for  him  to  acquit 
himself,  and  re-assure  her  of  his  love.  Only  the  brook 
moaned. 

"  Speak  !  say  something !  "  she  entreated  in  a  voice  full 
of  pain  and  passionate  appealing.  "  I  am  wretched,  wretched, 
wretched  !  Have  mercy  on  me  !  have  mercy !  " 

"  1  have  broken  my  promise,"  said  he,  not  tenderly  and 
soothingly,  but  frigidly  and  perversely.  "  I  have  sinned.  I 
am  unworthy  of  your  pure  affection." 

"  Oh,  never,  never  !  "  she  cried.  "  Think  what  I  am  to 
you,  and  never,  never  say  you  are  unworthy  of  my  affec 
tion!" 

Guy  gnashed  his  teeth  together  with  fiery  inward  thoughts, 
14 


210 


CHR  IS  TINA.  —  LUCY. 


knowing  how  he  had  wronged  Lucy,  and  how  he  wronged  her 
still  with  his  stubborn  icy  will,  which  even  love  could  not 
thaw. 

"  My  vision,  my  prophetic  vision  !  "  she  exclaimed  despair 
ingly.  "  As  I  lay  waiting  here  in  the  dark,  I  saw  faces 
around  me,  like  laughing  fiends,  and  heard  voices  saying, 

'  Lost,  lost,  lost ! '    In  the  dark  and  silence  I  kept  seeing 

% 
the  faces,  I  kept  hearing  the  voices,  — '  Lost,  lost,  lost ! '  — 

with  the  roaring  of  the  brook.  I  prayed  that  they  would 
stop.  I  entreated  the  brook  to  stop  :  it  was  torturing  me.  I 
know  now  what  it  meant.  You  wish  to  be  free  from  me. 
I  will  not  hold  you ;  I  will  not,  though  I  die  !  0  my  father, 
my  father !  you  are  all  I  have  left :  come  to  me,  father !  " 
And  she  threw  herself  upon  her  face. 

"  God !  God  !  "  groaned  Guy,  "  how  you  make  me  suffer  ! 
I  cannot  be  free  from  you :  Heaven  knows,  as  you 
should  know,  that  I  have  neither  the  power  nor  the  wish 
to  be." 

"  Oh  !  then,  when  you  said,  so  coldly,  that  you  had  broken 
your  promise,  why  couldn't  you  add  one  word,  one  little  sylla 
ble,  to  soften  that  cruel  sentence,  just  to  assure  me  that  you 
did  not  mean  to  break  it  ?  " 

1 '  Because  I  thought  you  ought  to  have  been  satisfied  of 
that  without  waiting  to  be  told  so." 

"  Then  you  did  not  willingly  break  it?  "  she  cried  eagerly. 

"  So  far  from  that,  it  was  most  unexpectedly  and  quite 
unwillingly  that  I  did  so." 


CHRISTINA. —  LUCY.  211 

With  a  cry  of  joy,  she  flung  herself  into  bis  arms.  He  was 
softened  :  he  strained  her  to  his  heart. 

But  how  was  he  to  explain?  He  knew  well  that  she 
would  not  regard  as  he  did  the  conduct  of  Christina.  Men 
have  boundless  toleration  for  women :  women  have  none  for 
each  other.  Men  excuse,  women  accuse,  —  especially  when 
the  question  is  of  those  feminine  foibles  which  flatter  the  mas 
culine  vanity. 

Guy  looked  upon  Christina  as  a  person  of  keen  perceptions, 
who  had  seen  enough  of  the  hypocrisies  and  corruptions  of 
society  to  despise  and  defy  it.  She  had  thrown  off  its  laws, 
without,  however,  arriving  at  the  supreme  law  within  herself. 
Such  a  woman  is  always  interesting  to  a  man  fond  of  adven 
ture  and  of  the  exercise  of  power ;  and,  in  Christina's  case, 
her  mediumship  invested  her  with  superior  attractions.  Guy 
felt  that  their  relation  was  of  a  spiritual  character,  and  that 
they  might  benefit  each  other  without  wronging  Lucy.  But, 
clear  as  all  this  was  to  his  own  mind,  he  knew  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  make  Lucy  believe  a  word  of  it. 

He  stated  simply,  therefore,  that  the  seeress  had  offered 
him  sandwiches,  when  sandwiches  were  very  acceptable ;  and 
that  she  had  interested  him  in  a  spiritual  phenomenon  with 
which  he  was  personally  connected.  And,  passing  over  cir 
cumstances  which  he  thought  it  unwise  to  relate,  he  hastened 
to  call  Lucy's  attention  to  a  mysterious  bit  of  paper  which 
he  brought  to  her  in  one  hand,  with  the  previously  lighted 
lamp  in  the  other. 

Lucy  read  the  following  sentence  in  pencil :  — 


212  CHRISTINA.  —  LUCY. 

"  Go  to  the  lake  to-day.  The  leader,  G.  B.,  will  be  sent  to 
you  there." 

Above  this  was  the  date.  Beneath  it  was  a  drawing  of  an 
animal. 

She  studied  the  paper  long  with  her  red  eyes,  while  Guy 
urged  her  to  tell  him  what  she  made  of  it. 

"  It  is  plain,"  she  admitted,  "  that  the  drawing  is  intended 
for  a  bear;  but  it  isn't  so  plain  that  it  was  done  in  the 
morning  before  she  saw  you  or  the  bear  at  the  lake,"  she 
added  with  perceptible  scorn. 

"  Neither  would  I  readily  believe  it,"  said  Guy ;  "  though 
she  told  me  of  the  written  prediction,  which  had  been  left, 
she  said,  at  the  Mt.  Solomon  Hotel.  She  gave  me  a  key, 
and  invited  me  to  go  with  her  and  her  friends  this  evening, 
and  witness  the  verification  of  the  story.  I  was  curious 
enough  to  go.  We  all  went  together  to  her  room.  There, 
in  my  presence,  she  opened  a  desk,  in  which  lay  a  portfolio. 
*  Unlock  that,'  said  she,  '  with  the  key  I  gave  you.'  I 
unlocked  it,  and  with  my  own  hands  took  out  this  paper." 

Once  more,  Lucy  studied  the  writing  and  the  picture.  She 
was  pale ;  her  lips  quivered  ;  she  was  evidently  not  yet  con 
vinced.  There  must  have  been  some  legerdemain ;  or  it  was 
all  a  mere  coincidence.  But,  whatever  it  was,  it  stirred  up 
again  her  jealousy  and  scorn. 

"  She  calls  you  the  leader!  "  — flinging  away  the  sheet. 
"  And  what  if  she  did  meet  you  there  ?  I  don't  see  the  use 
of  a  special  revelation  on  the  subject !  " 

"  Unhappily,  there  are  many  things  you  do  not  see." 


CHRISTINA. LUCY.  213 

"  Unhappily,  there  is  one  thing  I  do  see  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
pacing  the  floor  with  agitation  and  tears.  "I  see  that  there 
is  a  plot  to  dupe  you,  and  it  is  succeeding.  That  woman  is 
doing  her  utmost  to  take  you  from  me ;  and  you  are  only  too 
willing  to  go  !  " 

"  Lucy  !  "  said  Guy  warningly. 

"  I  shall  say  no  more,"  —  wiping  her  tears.  "  Go,  if  you 
wish  to.  I  shall  exact  no  more  promises  to  have  them  bro 
ken  afterwards,  when  my  heart  will  be  broken  with  them. 
My  happiness  has  been  short ;  I  might  have  known  it  would 
be ;  and  I  have  no  desire  to  prolong  it  at  the  expense  of  your 
freedom." 

She  fell  upon  the  sofa.  Guy  stood  before  her,  looking 
down  upon  her  frowningly,  gnawing  his  lip  to  control  the 
fiery  words  that  rose  to  it. 

"  And  you  give  me  my  freedom?  "  he  said  calmly,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Freely  and  entirely.'* 

"  I  thank  you,  both  for  you  and  for  myself.  By  leaving 
me  free,  you  will  find  that  you  make  me  more  your  own. 
Whatever  I  do,  I  shall  remain  true  to  you  :  I  shall  always 
return  to  you." 

His  tones  were  full  of  truth  and  tenderness.  She  could 
not  resist  him.  The  clouds  were  breaking ;  her  sunny  spirit 
was  shining  forth.  She  reached  up  her  arms,  and  love  and 
sweet  forgiveness  united  them  once  more  —  for  a  little  while. 


214  IN     THE     FOREST. 


XVIII. 

IN   THE  FOREST. 

FEW   days  later,  Guy  received  the   subjoined 
note :  — 


"  You  promised  to  grant  me  a  favor.  This  is 
what  I  am  directed  to  require  of  you.  Find  yourself  at  Dr. 
Biddikin's  to-morrow  at  three,  P.M.  There  you  will  meet  a 
disagreeable  little  old  woman,  with  yellow  hair  and  a  sour 
temper,  named  CHRISTINA." 

It  bore  date  the  previous  evening.  The  appointed  time 
was  at  hand. 

Now,  it  so  liappened  that  Lucy  was  expecting  him  to 
accompany  her  that  afternoon  on  a  ramble  in  the  woods. 

Guy  was  in  a  dilemma. 

His  hunger  for  spiritual  excitement  decided  him.  He  de 
spatched  Ann  Maria  with  a  note  informing  Lucy  that  he 
would  be  unable  to  fulfil  his  engagement  with  her,  and  has 
tened  to  meet  Christina. 

On  the  grass  before  Doctor  Biddikin's  house  sat  little  Job, 


7JV     THE     FOREST.  215 

amusing  his  appetite  by  nibbling  raw  corn,  and  diverting  his 
mind  by  letting  Jack  pick  his  pockets.  At  the  approach  of 
Guy  he  jumped  up,  and  looked  as  if  afraid  of  being  whipped 
for  something. 

"  He  ain't  to  hum  !  —  gone  up  on  the  mountain  !  "  he  an 
swered  before  he  was  asked. 

"  Is  there  nobody  in  the  house  ?  " 

"Nobody  but  me  and  Jack;"  and  he  smiled  a  sickly 
smile. 

"  Is  that  a  joke  ?  "  said  Guy. 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  drawled  poor  little  scared  Job,  pleading  guilty 
without  so  much  as  knowing  what  a  joke  was. 

The  crow  then  flew  to  Guy,  hooked  himself  to  his  waist 
coat,  and  began  to  pick  his  pockets,  crying,  "  Corn,  com  !  " 

"  Go  away,  you  rascal !  "  said  Guy. 

"  Go  'way,  you  rascal !  "  echoed  Jack. 

And  he  searched  with  his  beak  one  pocket  after  another, 
gossiping  in  an  unintelligible  jargon. 

"  Wants  something  to  eat !  "  said  Job. 

"  Don't  he  have  enough  ?  " 

"N-o-o-o!" 

"Don't  you?" 

"Y-a-a-s!  I'm  a  'normous  eater!"  grinned  the  little 
wretch. 

"  Did  Doctor  Biddikin  tell  you  to  say  so?  " 

"Y-a-a-s!" 

"  And  do  you  know  what  a  'normous  eater  is  ?  " 


216  IN     THE     FOREST. 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  he  nors  things  !  " 

"  Hello  !  "  laughed  Guy  :  "  we  have  etymologists  among 
us!" 

"  Et  a  what  amongst  us  ?  "  said  Job,  whose  mind  was  on 
victuals. 

"  Corn,  com  !  "  said  the  crow,  hanging  by  Guy's  pockets. 

"  Did  you  have  any  of  the  bear  ?  " 

"  He  had  some  !  "  — meaning  the  doctor. 

"  Didn't  he  give  you  any  ?  " 

"  N-o-o-o  !  "  drawled  Job.  "  He  got  me  out  of  the  poor- 
'us.  Said  'twas  too  good  for  poor-'us'  boys." 

The  simplicity  with  which  he  attested  this  miserable  truth 
would  have  moved  a  harder  heart  than  Guy's. 

"  Come  here,  my  lad  !  "  He  placed  his  hand  kindly  on 
the  boy's  shoulder.  "I'll  see  about  that  bear-meat:  you 
shall  have  some.  Does  Biddikin  whip  you  pretty  often  ?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  and  Job  nestled  to  his  side  like  one  who  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  had  found  a  protector. 

"  What  for?" 

"  'Cause  I'm  a  bad  boy.     I  tells  lies  !  " 

"Poor  little  Job!"  said  Guy.  "Does  he  whip  you 
hard?" 

"  Y-a-a-s  !     But  he  said,  '  Tell  'em  no,  if  folks  ask.'  " 

"  Whips  you  for  lying,  and  then  teaches  you  to  lie  !  It's 
too  bad,  Job  !  Where  are  your  parents?  " 

"What's  parents?" 

"  Merciful  Heaven  !  don't  you  know  what  parents  are  ?  " 


IN     THE     FOREST.  217 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  with  a  gleam  of  intelligence,  —  "  Adam  and 
Eve  !  "  He  remembered  his  catechism. 

"I  don't  mean  your  first,  but  your  last  parents,  Job; 
your  father." 

"  Never  had  no  father." 

"Nor  mother,  either?" 

"She  died,"  said  simple  little  Job,  "in  the  poor-'us'. 
Then  he  come  and  took  me." 

"What  do  you  do  here?" 

"Git  sticks  in  the  woods,  and  wash  dishes." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"  Eats  the  victuals,  and  licks  me." 

Too  much  interested  in  Job  to  look  out  for  Jack,  Guy  did 
not  perceive  that  the  thief  was  tugging  at  his  watch-chain. 
He  had  unhooked  it  at  one  end,  and  was  now  bent  on  detach 
ing  it  at  the  other.  Suddenly  out  came  the  watch.  Guy 
made  a  snatch  to  recover  it,  but  too  late  :  the  pick-pocket 
was  off  with  his  booty. 

He  flew  to  the  eaves,  where  he  laughed  and  chattered,  try 
ing  to  pull  the  chain  to  pieces,  and  calling  out,  "Corn,  corn  !  " 

"  When  he  steals  any  thing,  you  can't  git  it  agin,"  was 
Job's  comforting  observation.  "He'll  hide  it  some- 
wheres." 

"Is  there  a  gun?"  said  Guy,  in  whose  countenance 
Jack's  doom  was  written. 

"  N-o-o-o  ;  but  there's  a  ladder." 

It  lay  on  the  ground  by  the  fence.     Guy  placed  it  against 


218  IN     THE     FOREST. 

the  bouse,  and  mounted,  cane  in  hand.     Jack  scolded  ;  Guy 
flattered. 

11  Go  'way!"  said  Jack. 

"  Why,  Jack  !  "  said  Guy,  holding  the  cane  behind  him. 
"  Jack  mustn't  steal !  pretty  Jack  !  pious  Jack  !  " 

"  Let  Jack  alone  !  "  screamed  Jack  ;  and,  catching  up  his 
booty,  he  flew  with  it  over  the  roof. 

Before  Guy  could  get  down  and  run  round  the  house,  ho 
was  out  of  sight. 

"  Time  flies  —  in  a  rather  too  literal  sense  !  "  said  Guy. 
"Where  is  he,  Job?" 

"  Guess  he  went  to  the  woods,"  said  Job. 

Beyond  an  intervening  ridge  or  two  rose  the  woody  moun 
tain-side,  whose  vast  and  tangled  wildernesses  foreboded  the 
hopelessness  of  a  search  in  that  direction.  However,  Guy 
saw  nothing  else  to  be  done ;  and,  as  Christina  had  not  arrived, 
he  set  off  in  the  pursuit. 

Over  hill  and  through  hollow  he  ran,  till  he  came  to  a 
brook,  which  he  was  crossing,  when  a  voice  called  him. 
Looking  down  the  stream,  he  saw,  a  few  rods  below,  Chris 
tina. 

"  Am  I  late  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  got  away  from  the  company 
as  soon  as  I  could.  They  are  all  upon  the  mountain.  What 
time  is  it?" 

"  Time  !  "  echoed  Guy.  "  Everybody  will  ask  me  the 
time  !  If  you  had  kept  your  appointment,  you  would  have 
saved  me  very  valuable  time  which  I  lost  waiting  for  you." 
And  he  related  his  adventure. 


IN     THE     FOREST.  219 

"  It  was  to  teach  you,"  said  she,  "  how  riches  take  to  them 
selves  wings."  She  was  radiant :  she  laughed  bewitchingly. 
"  The  crow  shall  be  called  procrastination ;  for  he  is  the  thief 
of  time.  Give  up  the  chase,  and  follow  me  :  I  am  of  more 
value  than  many  watches." 

' '  A  watch  reminds  us  of  the  time  ;  you  cause  us  to  forget 
it,"  said  Guy. 

"  All  the  better  !  "  she  replied  with  charming  sweetness. 
' '  Let  my  face  be  your  dial,  and  I  will  tick  to  you  golden 
moments  !  Come  !  " 

"  What  is  the  enterprise?" 

"  A  tramp  in  the  woods.  We  shall  want  a  shovel.  Go 
to  that  old  cellar  yonder,  and  you  will  find  one." 

He  brought  a  spade,  and  they  entered  the  woods. 

*'  Sit  here,"  said  she,  "  till  I  have  recovered  my  breath;  " 
and  they  rested  on  a  rock  by  the  brook-side.  "  Do  you  know 
what  I  want  of  you  ?  " 

"  To  dig  sassafras-roots,  or  to  help  you  bury  a  dead  lover." 
And  he  added,  looking  at  her  fixedly,  — 

" '  Oh  your  sweet  eyes,  your  low  replies  I 

A  great  enchantress  you  may  be : 
But  there  was  that  across  his  throat 
Which  you  had  hardly  cared  to  see ! ' " 

She  started. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  I  was  only  quoting  Tennyson  :  — 


220  IN     THE     FOREST. 

"  '  Lady  Clara  Verc  de  Vere, 

There  stands  a  spectre  in  your  hall  ; 
The  guilt  of  blood  is  at  your  door  ; 
You  changed  a  noble  heart  to  gall  1 ' " 

With  a  look  of  pain  she  sprang  from  the  rock,  walked 
swiftly  a  dozen  paces,  then,  turning,  stood  before  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  repeated  imperiously.  "  Tell 
me  quick  !  Tell  me,  I  say !  "  stamping  her  foot. 

"  Why,  my  lady,"  said  Guy,  surprised  and  curious,  "I 
was  only  reciting  poetry." 

"But  what  put  it  in  your  head?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  do  !    You  have  heard  —     Am  I  a  Lady  Clara?  " 

"  By  my  soul,  I  am  beginning  to  think  so  !  " 

She  put  up  her  hand,  turning  from  him  with  an  expression 
of  misery  ;  then,  bending  over  the  brook,  she  washed  her  hands 
and  bathed  her  brow. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some  time,"  — drying  her  face 
with  her  handkerchief.  "  It's  a  strange  story ;  but  I  am  not 
a  De  Vere.  Come,  bring  your  shovel." 

"  Is  there  really  a  corpse  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  an  enigma  you  are  !  You  almost  make  me  think 
you  are  in  earnest." 

"  I  am  altogether  in  earnest.  But  'tis  not  my  dead,  thank 
Heaven!" 

"To  be  buried?" 


IN     THE     FOREST.  221 

"No:  to  be  uuburied." 

"  Explain  yourself,  or  I  won't  stir  an  inch."  And  Guy 
threw  down  the  spade,  folding  his  arms,  and  sitting  on  the 
rock. 

"Listen,  then."  She  came  and  sat  by  his  side.  "The 
first  time  I  was  in  Biddikin's  house  —  you  remember?  " 

"  Yes :  you  spoke  of  disagreeable  influences,  and  of  some 
person  having  died  there." 

"  I  saw  the  dead  body  of  a  child,  and  the  living  spirit  of 
the  child  standing  by,  pointing  at  it.  The  same  picture  has 
been  presented  to  me  several  tirnj3S  since.  Then  have  fol 
lowed  visions  of  Doctor  Biddikin.  Now  I  see  him  carry  the 
dead  child  in  his  arms ;  and  now  he  is  digging  with  a  shovel 
in  the  woods,  where  we  are  going  to  dig." 

"Christina!  And  is  it  for  this  you  have  sent  for  me 
here?" 

' '  I  did  not  know  what  it  was  for  when  I  wrote  to  you.  I 
did  not  know  until  to-day  how  I  was  to  get  here.  Then  a 
party  was  unexpectedly  got  up.  I  came  with  them.  We 
went  up  on  the  mountain.  There  I  was  trying  to  obtain  some 
impressions  with  regard,  to  the  money,  when  I  saw  distinctly 
a  peculiar  bank  in  the  woods ;  the  body  of  the  child  buried 
by  the  roots  of  a  tree ;  on  the  other  side  a  rock ;  the  brook 
running  close  by;  a  great  ravine  below.  And  the  words 
came  to  me,  '  Go  and  search.'  I  stole  away  from  the  com 
pany,  and  met  you." 

"  I  fear  there  is  something  in  it,"  said  Guy.     "  One  day, 


222  IN     THE     FOREST. 

when  I  was  sitting  with  our  little  housemaid,  Ann  Maria,  a 
spirit  came  and  rapped  out  the  name  Martin.  He  gave  his 
age, — ten  years;  and  said  he  died  at  Doctor  Biddikin's. 
This  was  all  I  could  get  from  him.  I  had  never  known  of 
such  a  boy  by  name,  and  I  inquired  of  Mad  about  him.  '  I 
know  who  you  mean,'  said  he.  'That  was  Martin  :  he  ran 
away.'  I  asked  the  particulars  of  the  running-away.  *  Once 
when  I  had  been  off,'  he  said,  '  and  came  home,  he  was  gone, 
and  we  never  heard  of  him  afterwards  :  that's  all  I  know.' ' 

"  But  not  all  his  father  knows,"  said  Christina. 

"It  has  an  ugly  look,"  said  Guy.  "  But  what's  the  use 
of  meddling  with  the  affair?  I've  no  ghoulish  appetite  to  bo 
scratching  up  dead  bodies." 

"It  is 'necessary  the  body  should  be  found,  or  at  least 
sought,"  replied  Christina.  "  Perhaps  these  things  are  all 
illusions.  We  can't  have  too  much  proof,  whether  they  are 
true  or  false.  I  have  seen  the  buried  child  ;  I  have  seen  the 
buiied  money.  If  we  can  find  the  one,  as  it  has  been  shown 
to  me,  why  not  the  other?  " 

"  How  did  you  come  by  the  shovel  ?  " 

"  That's  as  much  a  mystery  as  any  thing.  I  knew  nothing 
of  any  shovel  till  I  sent  you  —  or  the  spirits  sent  you  —  to 
the  old  cellar  for  it." 

"  I  swear,  it  takes  faith  to  believe  these  things  !  Come, 
now,  with  your  magic,  find  me  my  watch  :  then  I  will  believe ; 
then  I  will  do  whatever  you  require  of  me." 

"  Will  you  help  me  dig  for  the  body  ?  " 


IN     THE     FOREST.  223 

"  Yes,  and  for  the  money  too,  provided  we  find  the  body." 
"  Remember  your  words.      Take  the  bawble !  "  and  she 
drew  the  lost  watch  from  her  bosom. 

Lucy  had  all  things  prepared  for  the  anticipated  ramble, 
when  Guy's  letter  came  with  its  shock  of  disappointment. 

She  sat  down  to  sew.  But  her  heart  was  not  in  her  work ; 
it  was  not  in  that  narrow  room :  it  had  been  all  day  among 
the  trees,  by  the  watercourse ;  and  it  drew  her  thither  now, 
though  she  must  go  alone. 

Out  into  the  woods,  therefore,  she  stole,  where  the  brook 
sang  its  loud  gushing  song  ;  where  the  bluish  golden  sunlight 
barred  the  hazy  atmosphere  lodged  in  the  forest-tops  ;  where 
leafy  clusters  of  scarlet  and  orange  and  pale  gold  were  begin 
ning  to  variegate  the  summer  foliage ;  where  the  ghosts  of 
happy  days  and  dead  loves  came  out  of  the  gloom  to  meet 
her,  wrapping  her  heart  also  in  soft,  sun-barred  haze,  and 
singing  to  her  with  voices  far  off,  veiled  and  mournful. 

The  cool  depths  of  the  forest  stretched  away  before  her 
with  an  awful  yet  sweet  aspect  of  loneliness.  Tender 
thoughts,  tantalizing  fancies,  something  delicious  and  vague 
and  evanescent,  she  knew  not  what,  seemed  to  lurk  in  every 
nook,  and  flee  at  her  approach. 

"  0  Happiness  !  "  she  said,  "  it  is  you  I  am  always  play 
ing  hide-and-seek  with,  — you  flitting,  fleeting  shade !  " 

She  reached  the  rock  where  Guy  had  discovered  her 
retreat  one  ever-memorable  morning.  She  sat  down  again 


224  IN     THE     FOREST. 

by  the  torrent,  and  recalled  that  time,  and  the  changes  since 
that  time  ;  gazing  into  the  bubbling  and  beaded  -water  ;  gaz 
ing  into  the  vast  and  misty  sea  of  the  future,  towards  which 
she  was  drifting,  drifting,  on  the  waves  of  another  stream. 

Perturbed,  pierced  with  the  keen  agony  of  doubt,  she 
rose,  and  threaded  the  forest.  Farther  than  ever  before,  she 
advanced  to  meet  the  brook  coming  down.  Its  gladness  and 
beauty  reminded  her  of  scenes,  which  she  had  heard  Guy  de 
scribe,  far  up  in  the  gorge  of  the  mountain.  Pain  and  desire 
urged  her  on.  She  came  out  upon  an  upland  field.  Before 
her  stretched  the  eastern  range,  all  glimmering  in  blue  and 
gold.  There,  coiling  high  and  white,  wound  the  snake-like 
mountain-road.  On  the  right  were  the  columnar  crags,  \\itli 
the  pyramidal  ruins 'beneath,  just  visible  above  billowy  ver 
dure.  Between  the  crags  and  the  road  was  a  thick-wooded 
section  of  the  hill,  through  which  a  branch  of  the  brook 
descended.  She  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  visit  it.  She  set  out 
in  haste. 

All  breathless  and  trembling,  she  reached  the  jungly  recess 
es  of  the  gorge.  There  was  no  path  ;  and  she  had  to  make 
her  way  through  closely  interlocked  branches  of  young  hem 
locks,  which  harassed  her  with  their  hedge-like  entangle 
ments,  and  low,  dead,  sharply  projecting  limbs.  On  these 
she  tore  her  clothes  and  wounded  her  hands.  But  she  perse 
vered,  until  there  appeared  before  her  a  hushed  and  dusky 
greenwood,  rising  on  the  mountain-side  with  its  lofty  crested 
trunks  and  dim  spaces. 


IN     THE     FOREST.  225 

She  advanced  with  feet  that  hesitated  at  their  own  soft 
rustling  tread.  Above  her  the  spotted  sunshine  slept  like 
leopards  on  the  boughs.  The  plaint  of  waterfalls  was  just 
audible ;  towards  which  she  made  her  way.  And  now,  arrived 
at  the  brink  of  a  steep  bank,  a  snowy  wonder  met  her  eyes. 

It  was  a  cascade,  bright  and  curved,  dividing  the  hillside 
with  its  flashing  cimeter. 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  delight,  which  fell  back  heavily  upon 
her  heart  at  the  thought  which  instantly  followed,  —  that  Guy 
should  be  with  her  there,  but  was  not. 

She  did  not  linger.  Wonders  still  beyond  awaited  her. 
An  almost  unbroken  chain  of  waterfalls  led  her  on  by  a  hun 
dred  links  of  discovery  and  surprise.  Few  had  ever  pene 
trated  that  secret  spot.  Female  footprints  had  never  before 
pressed  those  mosses  and  old  leaves ;  eyes  of  woman  had 
never  before  gazed  upon  that  necklace  of  cascades  dropped 
from  the  mountain's  breast.  Every  step  was  a  rapture  and  a 
regret.  How  beautiful !  But  why  had  she  come  without 
Guy? 

Sometimes  she  climbed  the  stairway  of  the  brook,  in  the 
cool  scissure  of  the  rocks.  From  profound  recesses,  forever 
chill  and  dim,  she  looked  up  at  the  sunshine  on  the  leaning 
trees  a  hundred  feet  above  her  head.  She  imprinted  the 
dank  gravel  and  sand  of  mossy  nooks ;  she  flitted  like  a  bird 
over  the  broad  sloping  ledges ;  she  pulled  herself  up  steep 
places  by  the  boughs  of  trees.  At  times,  by  her  feet,  or 
deep  in  the  fissure  beneath  her,  or  now  high  on  the  rocks 
15 


226  IN     THE     FOREST. 

above,  the  Protean  water  shifted  and  shone.  It  gleamed  far 
off  like  a  white  statue  in  a  dark  niche.  It  broke  into  foam 
and  spray  on  jutting  crags,  and  gathered  itself  together  again 
in  tremulous,  surprised  pools.  Behind  screens  of  foliage  it 
danced  like  nymphs  in  snowy  drapery.  It  -1  ripped  in  a  thou 
sand  slender  threads  from  long  moss-fringes,  veiling  the  blind 
black  front  of  some  Cyclopean  rock.  It  lurked  dark  and  shud 
dering  among  the  great  bowlders  and  in  slimy  clefts.  Down 
long,  slant  grooves  it  slid  and  crawled  like  cream.  It  rippled 
a  magic  ribbon  from  the  lip  of  the  ledge,  as  if  the  hill  had 
"oped  its  ponderous  and  marble  jaws  "  to  rival  the  conjuror's 
art;  and  now,  through  craggy  teeth,  it  gushed  like  milk. 

Weary  at  length,  Lucy  laid  herself  down  upon  the  roots 
of  a  great  tree  that  overleaned  the  chasm.  There  she  re 
clined,  listening  to  the  never-ceasing  plash  and  drizzle  of  the 
water,  and  watching  a  silver  sheet  poured  over  a  broad  shelf 
into  a  misty  cave  below ;  when  into  the  murmurous  solitude 
came  a  sound  like  human  voices. 

She  started,  lifted  her  cheek  from  her  hand,  looked  all 
around,  but  saw  no  one.  Again,  —  clear,  ringing  voices ! 
And  now  she  perceived,  emerging  from  the  wilderness  above, 
two  figures. 

They  were  descending  the  opposite  bank.  From  root  to 
root,  by  saplings  and  shrubs,  they  let  themselves  down  into 
the  cavern.  Leaping  from  the  edge  of  the  solid,  water-worn 
wall,  one  of  them —  a  man  —  landed  upon  the  gravelly  floor, 
and,  reaching  up,  took  in  his  arms  the  other, —  a  woman, — 
whom  he  placed  by  his  side. 


IN     THE     FOREST.  227 

They  sat  down  on  a  fragment  of  rock.  The  mist  of  the 
cascade  enveloped  them.  The  agitated  waters  of  the  basin 
rippled  at  their  feet.  All  around  were  upheaved  strata  and 
overhanging  trees ;  on  the  roots  of  one  of  which  lay  Lucy, 
stunned  with  jealousy  and  despair. 


228  THE    CAVERN    OF    THE    CASCADE. 


XIX. 

THE   CAVERN  OF  THE   CASCADE. 

NTERING  the  woods  on  their  strange  errand, 
Guy  and  Christina  had  not  proceeded  far  by  the 
brook-side  when  the  seeress  paused.  It  was  a 
dismal  place.  Dark  hemlocks  and  spruces  thickly  overshad 
owed  it.  Below  it  opened  a  black  ravine,  into  which  the 
brook  rushed  with  hollow  murmurs.  On  the  brink  was  a 
huge  bowlder  overgrown  with  lichens.  A  birch-tree  was 
near  by.  Between  the  rock  and  the  birch  Christina  stood, 
her  features  pallid,  her  hands  cold  and  rigidly  closed,  her 
body  shudderingly  convulsed. 

"This  is  the  spot,"  she  said  in  a  voice  unlike  her  own. 
"  Here  dig." 

Guy  leaned  upon  his  spade  by  the  rock,  watching  her, 
appalled  by  her  preternatural  aspect  and  the  sepulchral  sig 
nificance  of  her  words.  He  had  no  heart  for  the  work  :  he 
did  not  move  to  obey. 

"Dig!"  she  repeated  with  authority.  "Under  her 
feet "  —  as  if  it  were  another  speaking —  "  lie  the  bones  of 


THE    CAVERN    OF    THE    CASCADE.  229 

murdered  Martin.  At  her  side  stands  the  living  Martin, 
together  with  a  numerous  company  who  have  brought  you 
here  for  this  work.  Lose  no  time,  but  dig !  " 

Guy  marked  the  spot  with  the  spade.  She  stepped  aside, 
and,  after  a  few  spasmodic  movements,  threw  off  the  influences 
that  were  upon  her. 

"  It  is  awful !  "  saidtshe.  "  Can  you  stand  there,  and  feel 
nothing?" 

' '  I  feel  creeping  sensations  not  agreeable  to  the  flesh.  Let 
the  dead  rest." 

"  Do  you  believe  any  thing  in  it  ?  "  whispered  Christina, 
pale  and  excited. 

"  Not  much.  I  can't  discover  that  the  ground  here  has 
ever  been  disturbed.  We'll  see."  Guy  thrust  in  the 
spade.  It  struck  solid  stone.  "There  is  the  ledge,"  said 
he,  with  a  feeling  of  relief.  "  There  is  not  depth  enough  of 
soil  for  a  grave." 

"  Are  we  a  couple  of  fools?  "  cried  Christina.  "  'Tis  the 
first  time  I  have  ever  had  such  clear  and  strong  impressions, 
and  been  deceived.  Be  sure  of  the  ledge." 

He  thrust  in  the  spade  again  and  again,  and  still  found, 
a  few  inches  beneath  the  surface  of  the  soil,  a  sub-surface  of 
rock.  Christina  sank  upon  the  ground,  dismayed. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  have  been  mistaken ;  and  I  am  not  sorry," 
he  frankly  answered. 

11  Oh  !  but  am  I  not  guilty  of  a  shallow  piece  of  impos- 


230  THE    CAVERN    OF    THE    CASCADE. 

ture?"  she  said  bitterly.  "Come  away.  Once  duped  is 
enough.  I  shall  never  trust  my  impressions  again.  I  am 
angry  and  ashamed." 

'*  Hello  !  "  said  Guy.  He  had  struck  in  the  spade  in 
another  place.  "  There  is  no  ledge  here  !  " 

He  threw  off  the  dirt  rapidly,  and  discovered  that  what  he 
had  mistaken  for  the  ledge  was  only  a  large  flat  stone.  He 
now  removed  his  coat,  and  fell  to  work  in  earnest.  The  slab 
was  soon  tumbled  over  upon  the  ground.  It  was  tolerably 
easy  digging  for  about  a  foot  farther ;  when  he  struck  another 
slab,  similar  to  the  first,  but  of  smaller  dimensions.  From 
this  be  scraped  the  dirt,  and  stopped  to  rest. 

"  You  promised,  that,  while  I  was  digging,  you  would  tell 
me  how  you  came  by  the  watch." 

"  There  was  not  much  witchcraft  about  that.  I  saw  Jack 
flying  with  something  into  the  woods.  He  sat  on  a  limb,  and 
tried  to  break  the  chain.  '  Come  here,  Jack  ! '  said  I ;  and 
immediately  he  flew  towards  me,  and  dropped  the  watch  at 
my  feet." 

*'  But  there  was  witchcraft  in  it ! "  exclaimed  Guy.  "  Such 
things  happen  only  to  you.  Birds  and  beasts,  and  spirits 
of  the  earth  and  air,  do  your  bidding.  Christina,  I  as  firmly 
believe  that  the  dead  boy  lies  under  this  stone  as  that  I  stand 
on  it!" 

He  recommenced  digging.  The  second  slab  was  soon  taken 
out.  Beneath  it  the  soil  was  soft  and  light.  He  threw  up 
a  fragment  of  rotten  cloth.  Whilst  Christina  was  examining 
it,  he  continued  to  dig.  Suddenly  he  stopped. 


' 


THE    CAVERN    OF    THE    CASCADE.  231 

"  Never  any  thing  more  in  this  world  or  the  next  shall 
astonish  me  !  I  believe  in  ghosts  and  prophecy !  Look  !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  cried  Christina.     "  Hair?  " 

"  Human  hair,  Christina  !  " 

"Horrible!  horrible!" 

"  Just  a  little  tuft,"  said  Guy;  " once  flaxen,  and  once  a 
wavy  lock  on  Martin's  head  !  Once  his  mother  combed  and 
curled  it,  and  thought  it  pretty.  I  am  sick  at  heart." 

"  Let  us  be  satisfied  !  "  she  whispered. 

"  I  am  satisfied.  Why  uncover  this  dreadful  thing?  Let's 
throw  back  the  dirt,  go  home,  and  hold  our  tongues." 

"Scrape  away  a  little  dirt  there;"  and  she  dropped  a 
pebble. 

The  spade  rubbed  something  hard,  wbich  was  not  stone. 

Shortly  after,  Guy  got  up  out  of  the  pit,  and  leane'd  against 
the  rock.  For  a  long  time  they  did  not  speak,  but  only 
looked  at  each  other.  The  wind,  rising,  shook  the  great  trees 
over  them,  and  the  brook  still  fell  with  sullen  plash  into  the 
ravine. 

' '  Is  it  not  dreadful?  "  said  Christina. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  another  who  stood  here  once ;  of  the 
night  when  he  '  bore  his  dread  burden  down  here,'  "  said  Guy. 
"  There  was  no  moon.  The  woods  were  black  and  awful. 
He  dug  in  the  darkness  to  the  dirge  of  the  wind  and  the 
water.  It  sounded  to  him  like  the  wail  of  a  lost  soul." 

11 1  pity  him !  "  said  Christina.  "  But  how  short-sighted  ! 
Why  didn't  he  tumble  the  body  down  into  the  ravine  ?  There 


232  THE    CAVERN    OP    THE    CASCADE. 

it  might  never  have  been  discovered  ;  or,  if  it  had  been,  it 
would  have  appeared  that  the  boy  had  fallen  from  the  bank, 
and  been  killed." 

"  Perhaps  he  brought  it  here  with  that  purpose.  Perhaps 
he  flung  it  down  there,  and  fled.  But  the  staring  horror, 
naked  to  the  eye  of  God,  would  not  let  him  rest.  Night  and 
day  it  haunted  him ;  day  and  night  he  saw  it  tumbled  down 
there  in  the  water  among  the  rocks.  He  came  at  last,  and 
covered  it  up  out  of  sight,  and  placed  over  it  these  slabs  to 
prevent  the  wild  beasts  from  digging  it  up.  Perhaps  the  act 
of  burial  did,  in  some  sort,  relieve  his  soul.  I  hope  it  did. 
What  a  heart  he  must  carry  in  his  bosom,  at  the  best !  " 

"  In  his  heart,  not  here,  the  dead  is  buried  !  "  sighed 
Christina. 

"  Not  for  all  the  world  would  I  have  such  a  sepulchre  in 
my  breast !  "  Guy  answered. 

After  that  he  shovelled  back  the  earth ;  but,  instead  of  re 
placing  the  stones  as  he  had  found  them,  he  set  them  up,  one 
at  the  head,  the  other  at  the  foot,  of  the  little  grave. 

"It  is  finished!"  said  Christina.  "Let  us  wash  our 
hands  of  this  corruption,  and  cleanse  our  minds  of  the  memo 
ry  of  it." 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Guy.  " I  know  a  rare  spot. 
The  very  atmosphere  of  it  is  a  bath  to  the  soul." 

They .  descended  the  hillside  along  by  the  ravine.  A 
furlong  or  two  below,  the  stream  fell  a  bright  cascade  into  a 
misty  cavern.  This  they  entered,  and  sat  down,  with  the 


THE    CAVERN    OF    THE    CASCADE.  233 

cool  vapor  of  the  cascade  drifting  past  them,  and  the  agitated 
waters  of  the  basin  rippling  to  their  feet.  They  did  not  talk ; 
but,  having  washed  their  hands,  they  sat  silent  in  the  roar  of 
the  waterfall.  Suddenly  Christina  knelt  upon  the  wet  sand. 

"  You  strange  creature  !  "  cried  Guy :  "  what  are  you  there 
for?  Get  up!" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  pale,  cold  face,  half  veiled  in 
mist. 

"  Shall  I  not  obey  Heaven  and  my  own  soul  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  was  silent,  awed  by  the  white  and  illumined  counte 
nance. 

She  bared  his  feet,  and  washed  them  in  the  water  of  the 
basin,  and  wiped  them  with  the  hair  of  her  head. 

"  Woman  !  woman  I  what  are  you  doing  to  me  ?  " 

Her  clothes  wet,  her  hair  all  heavy  and  tangled,  she  bowed 
down  her  face,  and  kissed  his  right  foot.  A  sharp  thrill 
pierced  his  soul  at  that  kiss.  No  taint  of  human  passion 
touched  him.  He  shuddered  with  an  ineffable  sense  of  di 
vine  mystery  and  love.  Upon  the  head  bowed  before  him 
he  laid  his  hand. 

"  0  God  our  Father !  0  Christ  our  Saviour  !  "  he  prayed 
aloud,  "  teach  us  the  meaning  of  these  things !  " 

And,  bending  over,  he  kissed  Christina's  forehead. 

Then  Lucy,  stung  to  wildness,  her  soul  reeling  and  sick, 
crept  away,  thinking  that  she  would  lie  down  somewhere  in 
the  woods,  and  die. 


234  JOB     AND     BIS     BENEFACTOR. 


XX. 

JOB  AND  HIS  BENEFACTOR. 

ITTLE  Job,  loft  alone  after  Guy's  talk  with  him, 
kindled  his  imagination  with  visions  of  a  great 
banquet  of  bear.  Eis  idea  of  heavenly  felicity, 
if  called  for  that  afternoon,  would  have  been  found  to  involve 
a  liberal  supply  of  that  rare  kind  of  meat.  In  his  Paradise, 
bill-of-farc  and  fill-of-bear  would  have  been  perpetually  and 
euphoniously  synonymous. 

The  hungry  child  sucked  his  fingers  in  fancy  over  the 
indefinitely  promised  repast,  until  he  concluded  it  would  be 
edifying  to  take  a  peep  at  this  necessary  ingredient  of  bliss. 
The  doctor  kept  some  in  a  prohibited  tub  down  cellar.  Thith 
er  goes  Job,  removes  the  cover,  pulls  up  his  sleeve,  introduces 
his  grimy  little  hand  into  the  weak  brine,  and  fishes  up  a 
pound  and  a  half  of  happiness. 

Ho  grins  at  it  hungrily,  not  doubting  that,  raw  and  salt  as 
it  is,  it  would  taste  good,  and  comfort  the  gnawing,  disconso 
late  stomach  of  him.  If  he  only  durst !  But  unfortunately, 
ever  since,  on  an  occasion  of  wrath,  he  fell  into  the  hands  of 


JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR.  235 

Biddikin,  and  came  out  with  a  numerical  deficiency  of  front 
teeth,  his  bite  betrays  him.  Rinds  and  crusts  seem  formed 
to  retain  the  marks  of  his  dental  irregularities.  He  cannot 
nibble  any  thing,  but  the  doctor,  with  his  keen  anatomical  per 
ception,  is  fatally  certain  to  discover  the  depredation,  and,  hold 
ing  up  the  bit  of  bread  or  cheese,  to  shout,  "  Your  teeth,  Job ! 
bring  the  whip,  Job  !  "  Therefore,  with  the  exception  of 
such  substances  as  milk  and  gruel,  which  do  not  have  to  be 
bitten  off,  whatever  the  little  wretch  tastes  furtively  he  com 
monly  continues  to  nibble  in  the  vain  hope  of  effacing  with 
each  subsequent  bite  the  prints  of  previous  ones,  until,  like 
Justice  Monkey,  he  finishes  the  morsel,  —  a  feat  which  he 
longs  to  perform  with  this  solid  lump  of  ursine  flesh ;  but 
hesitates,  thinking  that,  if  the  bear  does  not  kill  him,  the  doc 
tor  will. 

"  How  does  doctor  get  a  piece  off  ?  "  he  asks  himself  aloud. 
"Bites  it?  No:  cuts  it." 

This  suggests  a  knife.  He  knows  where  there  is  a  rusty 
one  in  the  cellar.  It  is  brought ;  and  saw,  saw,  it  goes,  un 
til  a  little  piece  of  the  meat  comes  off  in  the  grimy  fingers,  and 
the  big  piece  spatters  back  into  the  tub. 

"  I'm  a  'normous  eater  !  "  chuckles  Job,  with  a  glow  in. 
his  features  like  fire  in  dull  punk. 

He  sucks  the  meat  a  little,  but  not  much,  before  he  resolves 
that  it  will  be  an  improvement  to  wash  off  the  brine  as  he  has 
seen  Biddikin  do.  And,  after  all,  raw  bear  is  not  his  ideal. 
Why  not,  with  a  little  fire,  endeavor  to  realize  his  aspirations  ? 


236  JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR. 

A  few  coals  remain  after  tho  doctor's  dinner.  To  rake 
them  out  of  the  ashes,  add  a  few  chips,  and  kindle  a  good 
blaze,  is  pleasant  work  to  hungry,  anticipating  Job.  Then  to 
the  fire  goes  the  sputtering  bit  of  Bruin,  with  a  stick  thrust 
through  it  for  a  spit.  How  good  it  smells  !  It  matters  littlo 
how  it  smokes  and  burns.  He  holds  it  in  the  blaze,  and 
looks  at  it,  and  turns  it,  until  the  stick  resembles  the  Pole, 
with  the  Bear  revolving  round  ifc. 

He  does  not  stay  to  cook  it  much.  One  with  whom  meat 
has  always  been  so  rare  must  not  look  to  have  it  well  done. 
Night  is  approaching ;  and  Biddikin  may  return  to  intercept 
the  banquet. 

Biddikin  has  in  fact,  some  time  since,  taken  abrupt  leave 
of  his  spiritualist  friends,  among  whom  there  exists,  without 
any  kind  of  doubt,  as  he  thinks,  a  plot  to  swindle  him.  They 
will  not  dig  unless  he  will  sign  papers.  Shrewd  Biddikin  is 
skittish  of  signing  papers.  To  let  them  do  the  work,  defray 
all  expenses,  and  give  him  the  treasure  when  found,  would 
exactly  suit  the  penniless  old  millionnaire.  But  they  object  to 
such  an  arrangement :  hence  a  rupture.  And  Biddikin  is 
hurrying  alone  from  the  mountain. 

Swift  and  straight  he  goes,  as  if  the  odor  of  Job's  cooking 
had  reached  his  nostrils.  But  what  possesses  him  here  to 
diverge  from  the  common  path,  and  make  a  little  circuit  down 
through  the  woods  ? 

One  would  think  he  would  carefully  avoid  that  spot  yonder 
by  the  ravine.  It  can  hardly  be  a  comfort  to  go  there,  or 


JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR.  237 

even  to  think  of  it.     But  who  knows  what  fascination  there 
is  in  the  crime  that  refuses  forever  to  be  forgotten  ? 

Perhaps  he  wishes  to  see  if  every  thing  remains  as  when  he 
last  came  to  look  and  satisfy  himself  that  all  was  well.  When 
on  the  spot,  the  ground  seems  firm  beneath  his  tread,  and  he 
feels  how  foolish  his  fears  are.  His  secret  is  safe.  Out  of 
that  little  grave  the  dead  will  never  rise.  This  is  the  sense 
of  security  he  likes ;  and  for  this  he  comes  often  to  the  lone 
some  bank  where  the  rock  is  and  the  tree. 

But  no  sooner  is  he  gone  than  the  dogs  snuff  out  his  secret  ; 
the  beasts  of  the  forest  scratch  it  up.  He  imagines  a  thou 
sand  mischances,  and  sees  the  dead  face  of  the  boy  uncovered 
in  the  sight  of  heaven  and  the  eyes  of  men. 

These  nightmares  of  the  brain  draw  him  once  more  to  the 
unhallowed  place  this  hazy  afternoon. 

The  tremor  of  anxious  expectation  subsides  as  he  comes  in 
sight  of  the  well-known  landmarks,  and  finds  them  unchanged. 
Pathless  and  dim  stretch  the  forest  spaces.  No  snuffing 
dogs ;  no  group  of  amazed  and  indignant  neighbors.  Biddi- 
kin  smiles  pallidly  in  the  ghastliness  of  his  wretched  triumph. 
The  wind  among  the  trees,  the  brook  dashing  into  the  ravine, 
are  not  cheerful  sounds ;  but  then  they  whisper  of  the  soli 
tude  which  he  hopes  will  ever  reign  there.  The  interlaced 
hemlocks  and  spruces  shed  a  gloom  which  is  not  enlivening 
to  the  spirit ;  yet  they  seem  to  screen  from  the  blue  eye  of 
heaven  the  scar  in  the  earth's  violated  bosom. 

But  what  unforeseen  portent  is  this  ? 


238  JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR. 

A  beam  of  sunshine,  like  the  finger  of  God,  reaches  down 
through  the  sombre  and  shuddering  leafage,  and  touches  the 
one  dread  spot  betwixt  the  rock  and  the  tie*/ 

All  around  is  gloom :  only  the  little  grave  has  the  index 
of  light  upon  it,  —  an  awful  omen. 

Superstition  and  vertigo  seize  the  guilty  man.  He  sinks 
upon  a  fallen  log.  With  shaking  hands  he  adjusts  his  spec- 
tac -Irs,  and  looks  again  ;  while  a  freezing  fear  creeps  swiftly 
over  his  flesh. 

The  prodigy  is  not  what  it  seemed.  More  horrible  still : 
the  ground  has  been  disturbed,  and  what  appeared  sunsbino 
is  the  fresh  yellowish  soil  thrown  up  over  the  grave. 

And,  lo  !  the  tombstones  at  the  head  and  at  the  foot ! 

The  soul  of  Biddikin  shrivels  ;  his  flesh  seems  falling  from 
his  bones.  But  he  rallies ;  he  recovers  from  his  swoon  of 
terror,  and  listens,  and  looks  all  around.  He  has  but  one 
hope,  —  that  ambushed  eyes  are  not  watching  him. 

He  will  not  come  nearer  the  grave.  There  shall  be  no 
proof  against  him.  Who  can  affirm  that  he  ever  did  Martin 
any  harm  ?  "  Is  it  indeed  true  that  his  body  has  been 
found  ?  Buried  in  the  woods,  do  you  say  ?  Gentlemen,  you 
astonish  me  !  Then  he  did  not  run  away,  as  we  supposed  ? 
And  the  things  that  were  stolen  from  me  —  alas  that  I  ever 
accused  him  !  They  were  no  doubt  taken  by  thieves,  who 
went  to  the  house  and  murdered  him,  and  then  hid  him  in  the 
woods.  Yes,  by  all  means,  gentlemen,  let  us  ferret  out  the 
assassins,  and  bring  them  to  justice." 


JOS     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR.  239 

Thus  Biddikin  rehearses  his  part,  sitting  there  on  the  log, 
and  watching  to  see  if  he  is  watched.  He  acquits  himself 
triumphantly  before  imaginary  juries.  On  the  whole,  he 
thinks  he  will  feel  better  now  that  the  grave  has  been  discov 
ered  ;  and  perhaps  better  still  if  there  is  an  investigation,  and 
he  can  air  his  charnel  heart  and  its  ghastly  secret  a  little  by 
talking  freely,  and  fortify  himself  by  making  his  innocence 
clear  to  the  world. 

His  limbs  gain  strength  each  moment :  he  can  walk  now ; 
and  he  sets  out  homewards.  The  terrible  pressure,  which 
has  sometimes  almost  driven  him  to  go  and  confess  his  guilt, 
lets  up  a  little.  But  he  is  still  beset  by  superstition  and 
mystery.  He  fancies  a  thousand  eyes  following  him;  and 
the  vulture  Dread  will  prey  upon  him,  he  foresees,  until  the 
discovery  of  the  grave  has  been  explained,  and  he  has  faced 
suspicion. 

The  sun  is  setting.  The  woods  cast  their  vast  shadows  be 
fore  him  as  he  hurries  home.  Twilight  sits  dim  on  the  moun 
tain  ;  but  its  coolness  and  quiet  bring  no  rest  to  his  fevered 
mind.  Every  noise,  Svery  unusual  sight,  has  a  terror  in  it. 
What  is  yonder  ?  Smoke  from  his  kitchen  chimney  :  anoth 
er  mystery.  No  doubt,  even  now  the  officers  of  the  law  are 
sitting  round  his  hearth,  waiting  for  him  with  manacles  and 
a  rope.  He  considers  himself  no  better  than  a  hanged  man. 
He  approaches  tremblingly.  It  is  a  frightened,  glaring  face 
that  appears  an  instant  at  the  window.  What !  nobody  but 
little  Job  ?  All  this  consternation  of  smoke  raised  by  him  ? 


240  JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR. 

Biddikin  sees  the  boy  squatting  on  the  floor  there,  roasting 
his  meat  by  the  fire  ;  but  Job  sees  not  Biddikin. 

It  is  the  last  turn  :  the  bear  falls  from  the  burnt  stick  into 
the  ashes.  Job  picks  it  out  with  his  fingers,  and  places  it  on 
a  chip.  It  will  do  :  the  moment  of  fruition  has  arrived  ;  rel 
ish  and  ravishment  wait  upon  his  tongue.  He  opens  his 
mouth  to  admit  the  morsel  just  as  the  door  opens  to  admit 
the  doctor.  "Job!  you  villain!  what  does  this  mean?'* 
It  means  wrath  and  retribution,  Job  is  perfectly  well  aware ; 
and  the  meat  falls  from  his  hand,  and  his  nether  jaw  falls 
from  the  upper,  and  he  gasps  out,  — 

"  Hungry  !  —  HHIU -thing  t'  eat !  " 

"  Hungry  ?  what  business  have  you  to  be  hungry?  "  naff 
the  harsh  voice  of  Biddikin.  "  Where  did  you  get  that 
meat?  " 

The  miserable  child  knows  that  he  might  as  well  be  dead 
as  confess  ;  and  life  is  sweet  even  to  those  who  taste  only  its 
dregs. 

"  Man  come  along  and  give  it  to  me,"  says  poor  little 
frightened  Job. 

There  is  a  vagueness  about  the  bare  epithet  man,  which 
to  the  doctor's  scared  imagination  conveys  much.  He  de 
mands  to  know  what  man.  Job  has  Guy  in  his  mind  ;  but 
thinks,  if  he  names  him,  Biddikin  will  ask  Guy  if  he  gave 
Job  meat.  Guy  will  say  no  :  then  woe  to  Job  !  So  he  fal 
ters,  "  Don't  know." 

"  Which  way  did  he  come  from?  " 


JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR.  241 

"  That  way  ;  "  and  Job,  in  his  bewilderment,  indicates  the 
direction  in  which  Guy  went. 

"From  the  woods?"  demands  Biddikin  with  chattering 
teeth. 

"  Y-a-a-s!"  drawls  Job. 
"  How  did  he  look  ?  "  says  the  doctor. 
"  Great  big  man,"  says  Job. 
"  What  did  he  say  ?" 

"  Said  I  ought  to  have  some."     And  Job  ventures  to  pick 
up  the  meat. 

"  Tell  me  every  word  he  said  :  I  shall  whip  you  if  you 
don't;  oh,  I  shall  whip  you  almost  to  death  if  you  don't !  " 
And  Biddikin  adds  effect  to  the  menace  by  producing  a  strap. 
"  Told  me  not  to  tell,"  uttered  Job,  sucking  the  meat. 
Biddikin   pounces  upon  him.     Job  tries  to  think  ;    but 
both  memory  and  invention  fail  him,  and  he  can  only  articu 
late,  - 

"  In  the  woods,  — hunting  for  something." 
This  loose  allusion  to  the   lost  watch,   Biddikin   applies 
directly  to  the  search  for  Martin's  grave.     He  sits  down,  his 
eyes  glassy,  his  face  like  ashes.     Job  takes  advantage  of  the 
lull  to  regale  himself. 
"Did  he  ask  for  me?" 
"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  —  munching. 

It  is  at  all  times  a  grief  to  Biddikin  to  watch  that  boy  eat ; 
and  to  see  him  sit  there  now  so  stoically,  tearing  and  chew 
ing  like  a  little  harpy,  rapt  and  absorbed  in  his  viand,  puts 
16 


242  JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR. 

a  fury  into  him.  Job  knows  what  is  coining.  Those  eyes 
never  glitter  so  but  affliction  is  swiftly  to  ensue.  lie  vacil 
lates  between  hunger  and  fright,  but  concludes  to  make  the 
most  of  his  meat.  Gratification  of  appetite  is  a  rare  event 
with  him,  whereas  flagellation  is  altogether  too  common.  lie 
accordingly  sticks  to  the  meat,  trying  to  swallow  it  as  the 
doctor  strikes  and  beats  him. 

The  door  flew  open,  and  Christina  stood  on  the  threshold,  — 
a  spectre  to  Biddikin,  but  a  joy  to  Job. 

Without  speaking,  she  stood  there,  with  a  countenance  of 
sorrow,  regarding  the  miserable  pair.  Job  made  haste  to 
finish  his  banquet ;  whilst  Biddikin  rubbed  his  hands,  and 
stammered,  — 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  madam  !  I  were  correcting  this  boy. 
A  very  bad  boy;  ain't  you,  Job?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s,  awful  bad ;  wicked  !  " 

"  Very  wicked  !  "  said  the  doctor  :  "  he  knows  it.  Tells 
lies  ;  don't  you,  Job  ?  ' 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  grinned  the  starveling.  "  Awful  lies  !  I'm 
a  'norinous  eater  !  "  —  smacking  and  licking  his  chaps. 

"  Bad,  very  bad  !  —  wicked,  dreadful  wicked  !  "  muttered 
the  doctor. 

"  And  who  is  not?  "  said,  the  pale  prophetess  at  the  door. 
"  Is  there  one  good  ?  Not  one  !  " 

"  Ah,  that  indeed  !  "  grimaced  Biddikin.  "  But  Job  "  — 
and  he  shook  his  head  at  the  boy's  desperate  case. 

"  It  would  be  well  for  you  and  me,  Doctor  Biddikin,  if  wo 


JOB     AND     HIS     BENEFACTOR.  243 

had  no  greater  sins  on  our  souls  than  that  poor  child  !  "  said 
Christina. 

"  Very  true.  We  are  all  sinners,  great  sinners,"  —  caress 
ing  his  skinny,  trembling  hands.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you, 
madam  ?  "  —  with  ghastly  affability. 

"Invite  me  in,"  said  Christina. 

"  Ah  !  excuse  me  :  come  in  !  "  And  he  stood  twisting  and 
simpering,  in  the  endeavor  to  be  civil ;  while  he  would  about 
as  lief  have  seen  the  avenging  angel  enter  his  house  as  the 
dangerous  clairvoyant. 

"  Won't  you  ask  me  to  sit  down?  "  said  Christina. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  Pray,  sit  down  !  "  And,  bustling  about,  he 
brought  a  broken  chair,  which  he  dusted,  and  placed  for  her. 

"  A  chair  for  yourself,  doctor." 

He  seated  himself  near  her,  and  spread  his  handkerchief  on 
his  knees,  and  put  his  thumbs  together  over  it,  and  smirked, 
and  played  glad  to  see  her. 

"  Some  men  ! "  said  little  Job,  just  as  footsteps  and  a  loud 
knock  were  heard. 

Biddikin  gave  a  wild  start ;  but  Christina  motioned  him  to 
keep  still.  Job  opened  the  door;  and  Mr.  Murk,  the  philan 
thropist,  put  in  his  nose. 

"  Ah,  sister  !  Your  absence  has  occasioned  some  alarm. 
The  friends  have  been  looking  for  you." 

"Tell  them  to  go  without  me.  I  shall  spend  the  night 
with  Doctor  Biddikin." 

An  announcement  which  filled  the  involuntary  host  with 
dismay. 


244      ANOTHER  GRAVE  IS  OPENED. 


XXI. 

ANOTHER    GRAVE  IS  OPENED. 

SHOULD  be  most  happy —  the  honor  —  but,  I 
regret  to  say,  there  isn't  a  room  in  my  house  !  " 
Christina  smiled. 

"I  —  I  mean  a  room  to  offer  a  lady.  Under  other  cir 
cumstances,  I  should  be  delighted.  I  —  I  —  wouldn't  I, 
Job?" 

"  Y-a-a-s !"  said  Job. 

"  But  you  —  you  couldn't  think  of  sitting  up  all  night, 
you  know  !  "  —  with  a  livid  smile. 

"Why  not?  —  for  I  am  sure  you  will  be  gallant  enough 
to  sit  up  with  me  :  won't  he,  Job  ?  " 

"Y-a-a-s!  "said  Job. 

"That  settles  it,  doctor.  Now,  what  have  you  got  for 
supper?  " 

"I  —  I  declare!"  stammered  the  distressed  little  old 
man:  "I  believe —  Eaten  up  every  thing  in  the  house, 
haven't  you,  Job  ?  That  boy  !  —  he's  a  perfect  vampire,  a 
cormorant !  " 


ANOTHER  GRAVE  IS  OPENED.      245 

"  Indeed  !     What  a  pity  he  don't  fat  up  a  little  !  " 

"Fat?  A  bullock  a  day  wouldn't  fat  him.  The  quan 
tity  of  food  he  consumes  is  perfectly  incredible :  isn't  it, 
Job?" 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  said  Job,  with  an  inane  stare/ as  if  it  was  per 
fectly  incredible. 

Christina  opened  her  porte-monnaie.  "Here,  Job i  Go  to 
the  neighbors.  Say  the  doctor  has  company,  and  you  want 
the  best  that  is  to  be  had,  — bread,  milk,  butter,  cake,  tea." 

At  Biddikin's  suggestion,  she  wrote  down  a  list  of  the  arti 
cles  she  required,  and  despatched  Job  with  it ;  while  the  doc 
tor  began  to  think  her  visit  might  be,  after  all,  rather  an  occa 
sion  for  thanks  than  a  cause  for  alarm. 

"  How  you  need  a  woman  to  keep  your  house  for  you  !  " 
she  said,  looking  into  his  closets.  "  Ah  !  you  have  a  daugh 
ter  in  the  spirit-world,  doctor  !  She  is  here  now.  She  glides 
about  the  room  :  she  shows  me  what  to  do.  She  says  she  is 
with  you  when  you  never  know  it,"  she  continued  softly,  with 
a  changed  expression,  setting  the  table  as  quickly  and  handi 
ly  as  if  she  had  always  been  accustomed  to  the  house. 

Biddikin  gazed  as  at  an  apparition.  It  was  many  years 
since  his  daughter,  or  any  woman,  had  lighted  that  gloomy 
abode  with  her  presence.  Memories  thronged  upon  him. 

' '  It  makes  me  sad  to  think  of  you  alone  here  all  winter. 
Isn't  it  dreary?  " 

"  Excuse  me  —  I —  you  overcome  me  !    I  can't  speak  ! ' 

"  Have  you  no  friends?  " 


246      ANOTHER  GRAVE  IS  OPENED. 

"  Not  one  !  "  faltered  the  old  man.  "  My  brother  gives 
me  the  lease  of  this  house ;  but  he  never  comes  to  see  me. 
And  now  even  my  son  has  been  taken  from  me.  You  see 
before  you  a  man  with  a  broken  heart  I  " 

"  Ah,  doctor,  the  world  is  full  of  such  hearts!  We  suffer 
that  we  may  have  pity  for  the  sufferings  of  others." 

"Pity?  No:  none  can  know;  none  can  sympathize; 
nobody  ever  felt  the  keen  anguish  !  "  And,  with  his  con 
vulsed  left  hand,  involuntarily  the  doctor  made  the  movement 
of  a  serpent  writhing  into  his  heart. 

"  Don't  be  too  certain  of  that,"  answered  Christina.  "  I 
never  yet  found  a  sorrow  so  deep  that  I  could  not  go  to  tho 
bottom  of  it,  and  bring  up  a  pearl  of  hope,  as  divers  do." 

She  kept  about  her  work  ;  while  the  trembling  old  man 
watched  her  wistfully,  his  countenance  betraying  fear,  bewil 
derment,,  and  a  dawning  faith  that  in  this  frail  woman's  form 
lii-lp  from  Heaven  had  come  to  him,  to  comfort  and  to  save. 

The  messenger  presently  returned  with  a  plentiful  supply 
of  provisions.  The  table  was  soon  loaded,  the  tea  was  made, 
and  the  firelight  shone  upon  a  scene  of  cheerfulness  which 
had  not  within  the  memory  of  Job  been  witnessed  in  that 
house. 

"  Come,  doctor  !  supper  is  ready,"  said  Christina. 

"  Ah,  forgive  me  !  "  He  started  as  from  a  dream.  "  So 
many  things  come  up  !  To  see  the  tea  steaming  there,  and  a 
woman  sitting  beside  it  " —  He  paused,  choking  with  emo 
tion. 


ANOTHER   GRATE  IS  OPENED.      247 

"  You  must  reflect  that  the  woman  sitting  beside  it  is  hun 
gry,"  said  Christina.  "  Come,  Job  !  " 

"  Job  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  his  voice  changing  instant 
ly  to  the  habitually  sharp  tone  in  which  he  addressed  the 
poorhouse  child,  "why  don't  you  be  getting  sticks  to  keep 
up  the  fire?" 

Christina  set  down  the  tea-pot,  and  looked  up  in  sorrowful 
astonishment. 

"  How  can  you  speak  so  to  that  poor  boy,  doctor  ?  " 

"I  —  I  were  not  aware  —  I'm  a  good  master  to  you; 
ain't  I,  Job?" 

Job  assented  with  his  usual  sickly  grin,  and  drawling 
"  Y-a-a-s." 

"Doctor  Biddikin,  you  are  a  harsh  and  cruel  master!  " 
and  all  the  disdain  of  her  nature  flashed  angrily  and  wither- 
ingly  upon  him.  "  You  don't  know  how  to  be  a  good  master, 
you  have  grown  so  hardened.  I'll  show  you  the  differ 
ence." 

The  old  man,  who  had  been  gazing  at  her  a  minute  before 
with  an  expression  which  betrayed  how  much  he  felt  drawn  to 
her  for  refuge  and  for  solace,  writhed  and  cowered  before 
her  ;  while,  imitating  his  fierce  tone  and  manner,  she  said,  — 

"Job!  why  don't  you  start?  Get  those  sticks,  or  I'll 
take  a  stick  to  you  !  —  Is  that  the  way  he  talks  to  you, 
Job?" 

"  Y-a-a-s! "  said  Job,  getting  his  basket,  thinking  it  was  all 
in  earnest. 


248      ANOTHER  GRAVE  IS  OPENED. 

"  Ah,  no,  Job  !  "  Her  voice  changed  to  a  wonderfully 
contrasting  softness.  "  Never  mind  the  sticks,  my  child. 
Come  to  the  table,  and  be  happy  once  in  your  life.  Poor 
little  Job !  you  have  a  hard  time,  at  the  best ;  and  you  deserve 
all  our  kindness.  —  Does  he  ever  speak  in  that  way  ?  " 

'*  N-o-o;  not  to  me.  lie  does  to  Mad  sometimes,"  said 
Job,  with  a  wishful,  wondering  look.  Christina  sighed. 

"  Well,  he  will  speak  to  you  so  after  this,  I  hope,"  she 
said.  "  Come  I  " 

"  Won't  let  me  come  to  table  when  ho  does." 

"  Doctor  Biddikin  won't !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Ah  —  yes  — come,  Job  !  I  haven't  been  in  the  habit  — 
but  of  couv-'O  since  you  desire  it.  I  were  bred  in  a  very 
aristocratic  family,  and  have  had  servants." 

"  Oh,  what  a  pride  it  is  that  can  keep  alive  in  all  this  mis 
ery  !  I  should  have  thought,"  she  said  with  sad  and  pitying 
scorn,  "  it  would  have  starved  out  long  ago." 

She  placed  Job  at  the  table,  and  bade  him  eat.  The  doc 
tor  endeavored  also  to  sup  like  a  person  with  a  good  appe 
tite  and  a  clear  conscience.  But  ever-recurring  recollections 
of  a  grave  in  the  woods  made  his  soul  sicken  and  his  gorge 
rise ;  and  the  banquet  was  for  the  most  part  left  to  Job, 
who  did  it  ample  justice. 

"  You  are  ill,  doctor,"  said  Christina. 

"  I  am  very  well,  —  very  well  indeed  !  "  Biddikin  assured 
her.  "I  have  an  excellent  appetite,  as  you  see.  I  have 
eaten  prodigiously  !  "  And  he  clasped  his  hands  before  his 


ANOTHER     GRAVE     IS     OPENED.  249 

stomach,  leaning  over  them,  and  smiling  across  the  table  at 
his  guest  with  sepulchral  suavity. 

He  had  neither  candles,  nor  oil  for  his  lamps  ;  and  the  fire 
light  was  beginning  to  fail.  He  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to 
quit  the  table,  and  busied  himself  kindling  up  the  blaze  with 
fresh  sticks,  while  Christina  and  Job  finished  their  repast. 
She  joined  him  presently  on  the  hearth ;  and,  Job  having 
gone  to  bed,  the  young  woman  and  the  old  man  sat  there  and 
talked  till  she  had  thawed  his  heart-springs  and  broken  his 
pride. 

"What  is  there  about  you  that  affects  me  so?"  he  said. 
"  How  other  days  come  back  to  me  !  My  wife,  my  daugh 
ter,  all  I  have  loved,  all  I  have  lost,  — .you  suffocate  me  with 
the  memories  of  them  !  "  And  he  clutched  his  bosom,  gasp 
ing  for  breath. 

"  I  do  not  talk  of  these  things,"  answered  Christina. 

"  It  is  your  spirit:  your  atmosphere  is  filled  with  them. 
They  press  upon  me  and  around  me,  —  a  cloud  of  witnesses  ! 
What  is  it?"  he  said. 

"  It  is  the  day  of  judgment  which  has  come  to  your  soul," 
she  responded  solemnly.  "  Do  you  not  see  Martin  with  the 
rest?" 

He  bent  over  the  hearth,  and  nervously  pushed  together 
the  falling  brands. 

"  I  have  had  a  dozen  patients  in  this  house  at  a  time,"  he 
spoke  up  suddenly.  "  I  were  occupied  from  morning  till 
night ;  a  proud  and  happy  man.  Now  not  even  my  son  is 


250      ANOTHER  GRAVE  IS  OPENED. 

left  me.  Shouldn't  you  think  I  would  have  some  dark 
hours?" 

"  I  should  think  you  would  wish  to  die  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Die?  die?"  He  shuddered.  "But  I  am  not  pre 
pared  ! " 

"  Few  who  die  are  prepared.     Was  Martin  prepared  ?  " 

Again  he  stirred  the  fire  with  aguish  hands ;  and  again, 
after  a  pause,  he  attempted  to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  A  dozen  patients  at  a  time.  I  were  famous  for  my 
treatment  of  rheumatic  complaints.  I  had  this  house  built 
for  a  hospital.  It  is  very  large,  you  see.  But  I  am  all 
alone  in  it  now  !  " 

"  Not  quite.  Do  not  any  longer  consider  Job  as  no  more 
than  a  dumb  beast,  doctor.  If  you  have  no  mercy  on  him, 
how  can  you  expect  God  to  have  mercy  on  you  ?  In  the 
sight  of  Heaven,  he  is  as  good  as  you  or  I,  and  may  be  a 
great  deal  better.  One  thing  is  certain :  he  has  not  the  blood 
of  a  fellow-creature  on  his  hands." 

He  rolled  his  eyes  up  at  her  quickly.  "  Who  has  ?  You 
—  you  cannot  say  I  have." 

"  Poor  old  man  !  "  she  said,  "  it  is  time  for  us  to  under 
stand  each  other.  I  do  not  accuse  you  ;  but  I  know  all." 

He  sat  crouching  over  the  fire,  mute,  paralyzed,  as  if  he 
had  heard  the  stroke  of  doom. 

"  Fear  nothing  from  me,"  she  continued,  with  deep  pity 
in  her  tones.  "  I  am  your  sister.  I  have  come,  not  to  harm 
you,  but  to  save." 


ANOTHER     GRAVE     IS     OPENED.  251 

He  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  lifted  up  his  poor  old  hands 
imploringly. 

"  Have  mercy  on  me  !  —  have  mercy  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  will,  as  I,  too,  hope  for  mercy  !  "  she  said  with  a 
tenderness  and  a  radiance,  even  as  an  angel  might  have 
looked  and  spoken.  "  I  will  bless  yon,  and  not  hurt  you. 
The  grave  in  the  woods  has  been  opened ;  and  the  grave  in 
your  heart  must  also  be  opened,  or  else  you  can  never  know 
peace." 

"  The  grave  !  "  he  articulated,  with  a  terrified  inquiry  in 
his  face. 

"Heaven  guided  me  to  it  for  your  good.  Shut  up  in 
your  heart,  the  dreadful  secret  gnaws  like  the  undying  worm. 
You  must  give  it  to  me." 

"  I  did  not  kill  him  !  —  I  did  not !  " 

"I  know  you  did  not  willingly;  and  yet,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  it  would  be  murder.  And  you  feel  the  stain  of 
murder  on  your  soul,  —  as  I  have  felt  it  on  mine  !  "  her  voice 
suddenly  sinking. 

"  You  !  — you  have  felt  it  ?  "  eagerly  uttered  the  culprit. 

"  And  all  the  while,"  she  added,  "  I  would  have  given  my 
life  for  the  life  I  destroyed  ! " 

"  Is  it  true  ?  "  he  cried,  selfishly  grasping  at  a  fellowship 
in  guilt. 

"  True,  or  else  I  should  not  be  here,"  she  sadly  answered; 
"  else  I  should  still  be  in  the  world  where  I  was,  shallow- 
hearted  and  frivolous  as  any.  I  am  an  exile,  but  not  from 


252  ANOTHER     GRAVE     IS      OPENED. 

God.  Come,"  she  said  with  unfathomable  tenderness,  "  put 
your  tired  head  on  my  lap,  as  if  you  were  a  child,  and  I  your 
mother,  and  tell  me  all." 

"  It  is  that  treasure  that  has  been  my  ruin  !  " 

"  I  know  it  well.  And  it  may  prove  the  ruin  of  more  of 
us  yet :  it  certainly  will,  if  we  seek  it  selfishly,  or  for  base 
ends.  You  wanted  it  for  your  pride." 

"  I  were  very  ambitious.  Great  wealth  and  a  great  name, 
they  were  my  idols,  and  they  have  lost  me  my  soul!  "  he 
said  with  a  wail  of  anguish. 

"Heaven  have  mercy  on  you  !  "  prayed  Christina. 

"  There  is  in  heaven  no  mercy  for  me  !  " 

"  What!  have  the  angels  less  love  than  I?  Has  God  less 
than  the  angels  ?  Old  man,  I  bend  over  you  now  with  a 
•  bosom  full  of  pity ;  with  arms  of  charity  large  enough  to  clasp 
all  the  sins  of  the  world  !  And  is  Christ  less  than  I?  " 

"  Save  me,  —  stay  with  me,  —  do  not  leave  me  again  !  " 
he  pleaded  wildly,  clinging  to  her,  on  his  knees.  "  I  never 
heard  such  words  from  human  lips:  I  shall  never  again. 
Help  me,  or  I  am  lost !  " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  head,  soothing  him  as  if  he  were 
indeed  an  erring,  repentant  child,  and  she  a  forgiving  mother. 
And  so  she  encouraged  him  to  speak  of  Martin. 

"  He  were  a  beautiful  boy,  and  I  might  have  loved  him  ; 
but  to  love  a  poorhouse-boy  went  against  my  pride.  I  were 
very  proud,"  the  old  man  continued,  with  something  like  the 
ghost  of  a  smile.  ' '  I  wanted  to  keep  up  the  illusion  that  I 


ANOTHER   GRAVE  IS  OPENED.      253 

were  a  rich  man.  I  could  not  have  servants  ;  but  I  could 
have  a  slave.  I  —  I  confess  I  made  a  slave  of  Martin." 

"  Christ,"  said  Christina  with  deep,  tremulous  fervor,  "is 
on  the  side  of  the  lowly.  Just  so  sure  as  we  set  ourselves 
above  the  least  of  his  little  ones,  we  separate  ourselves  from 
him.  He  who  makes  a  slave  of  a  fellow-creature  severs  the 
divine  bond  of  brotherhood,  the  umbilical  cord  of  love  which 
unites  each  soul  with  the  great  life-giving  Source  of  all  souls. 
It  is  not  the  slave  that  is  cut  off,  but  the  tyrant.  He  gives 
himself  over  to  pride  and  selfishness,  the  father  and  mother 
of  all  bad  passions.  Ah,  you  knew  not  what  you  did,  old 
man  !  You  have  been  more  unfortunate  than  you  supposed." 

"  Fifteen  years  of  hope  deferred,  — think  of  that,  before  you 
condemn  me  !  "  whined  the  wretch.  "  Fifteen  years  of  seek 
ing  for  that  treasure,  —  it  had  almost  made  me  mad !  I  con 
fess  I  vented  my  disappointments  on  Martin.  I  beat  him ; 
yes,  I  beat  him  often.  I  used  to  shut  him  up  without  any 
supper,  and  leave  him  all  night.  One  morning,  I  found  him 
dead." 

"  And  you  the  cause  !  " 

"  But  I  did  not  intend  his  death,  —  no,  no  !  And  it  were 
a  terrible  shock  when  I  found  him  stiff  and  cold !  " 

Christina  moaned  as  if  the  deed  and  the  remorse  were  her 

own. 

"  Oh  !  why  did  you  not  then  call  in  your  neighbors,  and 
say, '  Behold  the  child  I  have  punished  :  he  has  died  '  ?  " 

"  There  were  marks  where  I  had  beaten  him  :  I  could  not 


254  ANOTHER     GRATE     IS     OPENED. 

make  them  disappear.  There  were  traces  of  suffering,  —  of 
starvation  :  I  could  not  hide  them.  I  feared  exposure  ;  I 
dreaded  investigation ;  I  feared  more  for  my  pride  than  for 
my  life.  People  would  have  pointed  at  me,  and  said,  '  Child- 
murderer !  '  so  I  buried  him  in  the  woods." 

"  And  your  own  soul  with  him  !  "  said  Christina  ;  "  when 
only  confession  and  repentance  could  have  brought  you 
peace." 

"Peace!  —  I  have  never  known  peace!  I  have  been 
haunted  by  horror  and  remorse.  I  thought  I  would  atone 
for  what  I  did  to  Martin  by  getting  another  boy,  and  being 
kind  to  him.  I  brought  Job  here.  But  I  had  lost  posses 
sion  of  myself :  a  devil  has  seemed  to  have  me  !  " 

"  Many  devils  have  had  you,  poor  old  man  !  To-night  we 
begin  to  cast  them  out.  To-night  God  lifts  the  curse." 

"  By  your  hand,  —  angel  !  "  he  broke  forth  with  sobs  and 
tears.  "  Be  my  guide,  my  guardian.  Tell  me  what  to 
do!" 

"  In  the  first  place,  be  kind  to  Job ;  and,  when  prejudices 
against  the  poorhouse  arise,  reflect  that  you  may  yet  be  there 
yourself!" 

"I  —  with  all  that  treasure  !  " 

"  The  closer  you  cling  to  that,  the  poorer  you  will  always 
be.  You  must  give  it  up.  If  there  is  a  treasure,  it  is  not 
for  men,  but  for  humanity." 

"  It  is  hard,  after  all  these  years.  I  cannot  sign  away  my 
claims !  I  cannot  give  up  my  riches !  " 


ANOTHER   GRAVE  IS  OPENED.       255 

Christina  rose  impatiently. 

"  Sordid  wretch  !  are  you  so  incorrigible  ?  Have  I  labored 
with  you  in  vain  ?  " 

"  You  have  come  here,  then,  to  beguile  me  of  my  treasure ! " 
cried  the  doctor  ;  "  to  frighten  me  into  compliance  !  But  I 
will  not  be  frightened  :  I  will  not  sign." 

Quietly  Christina  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  was 
about  to  quit  the  house.  He  ran  after  her,  and  threw  him 
self  at  her  feet. 

"  Don't  go  !  Pardon  my  childishness  :  I  am  very  child 
ish.  Stay  :  I  will  do  any  thing  you  wish." 

She  looked  down  at  him  a  moment,  half  in  pity,  and  half 
in  disdain  of  his  terrified  servility  :  then  with  a  sigh,  as  if  the 
resolution  to  depart  had  been  a  relief  to  her,  she  removed 
again  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  resumed  her  seat  by  the 
hearth,  he  cringing  at  her  side. 


256  MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE. 


XXII. 

MAD  BIDDIKIN'S  RIDE. 

FORTUNE    is   to   certain   marriageable    ladies 

what  a  molasses-cup  is  to  flies ;  and  Elphaz  Pelt, 

Esq.,  consoling  himself  for  the  loss  of  Lucy  by 

retaining  her  dowry,  looked  about,  and  saw  with  a  grim  smile 

at  least  a  score  of  young  women  ready  to  rush  into  his  arms 

and  the  fine  new  house  he  was  building. 

But  Elphaz  was  circumspect ;  Elphaz  was  nice  ;  and  grad 
ually  narrowing  the  circle  of  his  observation,  like  a  wheeling 
bird  of  prey,  he  fixed  his  eagle  eye,  and  pounced  on  the  Pin- 
worth  cottage. 

Metaphorically  speaking.  He  did  not  exactly  swoop  down 
the  chimney,  nor  dash  through  a  window  ;  nor  is  it  to  be  un 
derstood  that  he  had  swapped  off  his  two  very  distinct  organs 
of  vision  for  one  prime  aquiline  orb.  On  the  contrary,  he 
walked  in  regularly  every  Sunday  night  by  the  front-door,  in 
his  finest  plumage;  polished  his  beak  with  a  silk  handker 
chief  ;  gave  a  claw  to  Sophy,  and  a  claw  to  her  mother ; 
perched  himself  between  that  amiable  pair  of  doves  for  the 


MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE.  257 

evening ;  aiid  found  his  oblique  dual  optics  just  the  thing  for 
the  occasion. 

"Takes  a  cross-eyed  man  to  court  two  women  at  once," 
said  Mad  Biddikin  ;  bitterly,  for  reasons. 

It  was  some  time  before  it  was  known  which  of  the  ladies 
was  the  lawyer's  choice.  September  decided  the  question. 
Pelt  proposed  to  Sophy  :  Sophy  accepted  Pelt.  At  which, 
society  held  up  all  its  hands  ;  one  of  which  was  clinched  and 
shaken. 

The  fist  was  young  Biddikin's.  He  had  courted  Sophy 
himself  all  summer,  and  been  secretly  favored ;  when  Pelt 
stepped  in,  and  he  was  turned  out :  Sophy,  lured  by  lucre, 
transferring  her  affections  to  a  man  nearly  twice  his  age,  and 
not  half  as  good-looking. 

The  turbulent  Biddikin  blood  boiled  at  this  perfidy.  But 
he  blamed  Sophy  less  than  he  did  her  mother,  by  whom  she 
had  been  over-persuaded ;  and  Pelt,  by  whom  she  had  been 
purchased.  Against  these  two  his  vengeance  burned.  He 
had  a  scene  with  Mrs.  Pin  worth  in  the  street,  —  very  scan 
dalous.  He  stood  and  blackguarded  Elphaz  as  he  went  in 
and  out  of  his  office.  In  short,  he  was  fast  becoming  a  nui 
sance  which  the  squire  particularly  desired  to  have  ubated ; 
and  his  sharp  eyes  consulted  each  other  on  the  subject,  while 
he  waited  his  chance. 

It  so  happened,  that  the  same  evening  on  which  the  elder 
Biddikin  went  through  the  terrible  ordeal  of  discovery  and 
confession  also  brought  a  crisis  in  the  junior's  fortunes. 
17 


258  MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     HIDE. 

Colonel  Bannington  had  taken  advantage  of  the  fine 
weather  to  visit  the  village ;  and  Mad,  who  accompanied  him, 
had  experienced  the  sting  of  seeing  dash  by  him,  as  he  slowly 
wheeled  the  chair  through  the  street,  a  smart  buggy,  con 
taining  a  pair  of  laughing  lovers.  It  was  Elphaz  and  Sophy. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  the  invalid;  for  Mad 
had  halted  involuntarily,  all  ablaze. 

"  He'd  rather  be  pulling  Pelt's  nose  than  pushing  your 
chair,"  laughed  the  tavern-keeper. 

Mad,  galled  as  never  before  by  his  mean  occupation,  which 
was  thrown  into  humiliating  contrast  by  the  gay  style  in 
which  Sophy  was  riding  out,  crushed  an  oath  between  his 
teeth,  and  moved  on. 

Everybody  stopped  to  speak  with  the  colonel,  who  was  in 
so  sociable  a  mood,  that  the  sun  had  set  before  he  thought  of 
the  homeward  journey.  Then  he  remembered  the  evening 
dews,  and  ordered  a  rapid  retreat.  Mad  sullenly  took  his 
time  to  ascend  the  long  grade,  his  volcanic  soul  ready  at  any 
moment  to  belch  fire. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  growing  deused  lazy,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  arc  growing  deused  sassy  !  "  Mad  an 
swered,  and  stopped. 

It  took  the  colonel  an  instant  to  realize  the  supreme  inso 
lence  of  the  retort.  Then,  slowly  twisting  himself  round  in 
his  chair,  he  struck  at  Mad  with  his  cane  ;  which  was  seized 
quickly,  wrenched  from  his  hand,  splintered,  and  flung  upon 
the  roadside. 


MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE.  259 

"  Look  out  bow  you  raise  cane  with  me,  you  old  limp- 
legs  !  "  And  Mad  sat  down  on  a  stone,  and  laughed. 

They  were  on  an  unfrequented  road,  at  a  distance  from 
any  house.  It  was  fast  growing  dark.  The  evening  was 
damp  and  chill.  The  invalid  stormed  and  threatened. 

"  Better  keep  quiet  there,  you  wheelbarrow-full  of  corrup 
tion  !  or  you'll  get  spilt  over,"  Mad  warned  him. 

The  colonel  remembered  how  he  had  suffered  from  the  ven 
geance  of  one  man.  He  did  not  like  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
another  with  so  murderous  a  disposition  as  Mad  manifested. 
He  accordingly  arranged  his  muffler,  strained  his  keen  eyes 
to  peer  into  the  dusk,  and  kept  silent,  waiting  for  succor. 

Unfortunately,  in  the  first  ebullition  of  his  wrath,  he  dis 
charged  the  offender  from  his  service  ;  for  which  Mad  mock 
ingly  thanked  him,  saying  that  he  was  "  tired  of  being  a 
hoss."  And  now,  when,  shivering  in  the  dark  and  cold  till 
he  felt  the  chill  striking  to  his  vitals,  he  humbled  himself  to 
inquire  how  much  longer  he  was  to  be  kept  exposed  there, 
the  answer  came  jeeringly  back,  — 

"  Don't  ask  me  :  it's  none  of  my  business.  I'm  out  of  a 
situation ;  and  I'm  going  to  set  here  till  somebody  comes 
along  and  hires  me." 

"  I'll  give  you  a  job,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  You'll  give  somebody  a  job  to  carry  you  to  your  grave, 
you  tub  of  wickedness  !  Look  out,"  muttered  Mad,  "that 
you  don't  hurry  up  your  funeral-cakes  by  striking  me 


260  MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE. 

The  invalid  pushed  his  chin  out  of  his  muffler,  and  breathed 
quick,  fierce  breaths,  for  a  minute,  with  clinched  teeth.  He 
•wished  he  had  his  pistols  with  him. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  to  take  me  home  ;  and  let  that 
end  it." 

"  Bid  higher'n  that,  you  old  huckster  !  You  are  in  a  bad 
place,  right  in  the  road  there,  where  wagons'll  be  running 
over  ye.  Though  maybe  there  won't  be  any  wagons  passing, 
and  you  may  have  to  stay  till  morning,  —  you  bowled-down 
ten-pin  ! " 

"  Two  dollars  !  "  chokingly  said  the  colonel,  appalled  by 
the  prospect. 

"  Two  dollars  is  cussed  little  for  a  man  you've  struck  with 
a  cane.  The  law'll  give  me  more'n  that."  And  Mad  began 
to  whistle. 

Darker  still ;  clouds  lising,  and  shutting  out  the  stars.  No 
vehicle  coming. 

"  Five  dollars,"  —  the  words  tasted  like  gall  to  the  help 
less,  enraged  man,  —  "  and  square  accounts." 

"  Five  dollars  won't  square  accounts.  I'm  to  have  a  crack 
at  you  to  make  us  even,  you  broken-bladed  jack-knife  !  Ah ! 
won't  it  feel  good  to  get  hold  of  your  sack  of  bones,  and  shake 
it  a  little  !  Grind  your  hatchet-face  sharper'n  'tis  now  in  the 
sand  here  !  Now,  do  you  know  what  I'm  waiting  for  ?  " 

The  colonel  had  no  longer  a  doubt  but  it  was  the  villain's 
mtention  to  delay  until  it  was  dark  enough,  and  then  quietly 
murder  him.  He  didn't  want  to  be  murdered.  Although 


MAD     BIDDIKIN'S    RIDE.  261 

by  no  means  a  coward,  he  felt  an  impotent  and  selfish  cling 
ing  to  life,  wretched  as  life  had  become. 

"  Say,  don't  you  think  you've  lived  about  long  enough, 
you  crippled  old  sinner  ?  "  the  assassin  continued.  "  There's 
Guy  waiting  for  your  shoes.  He'll  marry  Lucy  Arlyn  .  as 
soon  as  you're  out  of  the  way  :  then  your  money'll  go  !  Five 
dollars  to  take  you  home  ?  Wonder  what  they'd  give  to  have 
you  sent  to  your  long  home  !  " 

The  colonel  then  began  to  call  for  help. 

"  Look  a  here  !  just  you  dry  up !  shut  down  on  that 
arrangement  mighty  quick  !  "  said  Mad,  starting  to  his  feet. 
"  My  fingers  are  aching  to  get  hold  o'  your  wind-pipe.  You 
never '11  scream  again  if  they  do  !  " 

"  By  the  gods  !  I  can't  stay  here,"  cried  the  colonel 
furiously,  prepared  to  grapple  and  die  game.  "  I'll  call ;  and 
lay  a  hand  on  me  if  you  dare  !  "  He  did  not  shout,  how 
ever,  but  pulled  a  bank-note  from  his  pocket,  and  made  Mad 
a  last  offer.  "  Ten  dollars  to  take  me  home.  Yes  or  no  ; 
and  speak  quick  !  " 

"  Agreed,"  said  Mad,  laughing  as  he  pocketed  the  note, 
although  it  was  too  dark  to  ascertain  its  value  ;  and,  laying 
hold  of  the  chair,  he  pushed  it  a  few  rods,  then  halted. 

"Goon,  go  on!"  vociferated  the  colonel:  "you've  got 
your  pay." 

' '  Yes  :  but  I  ain't  working  by  the  week  now ;  I'm  working 
by  the  job.  No  time  was  set  to  have  it  finished ;  and  I  can 
afford  to  be  all  day  to-morrow  about  it. ' ' 


262  MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     EIDE. 

After  resting  a  while,  he  went  on  a  little  farther  with  ex 
asperating  deliberation,  and  halted  again. 

"  You  haven't  give  me  any  chance  for  supper  yet,"  said  he. 
"  I  guess  now  I'll  leave  you  while  I  go  and  get  some." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Bannington  reminded  him  of  the 
agreement. 

"  I'll  keep  my  word,  colonel.  Dead  or  alive,  I'll  wheel 
ye  home.  I'll  come  back  and  wheel  ye  a  little  farther  after 
supper  ;  then  lean  finish  the  job  easy  in  the  morning."  And 
Mad  marched  away,  heedless  of  threats,  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkness. 

Nothing  was  left  the  invalid  but  to  shout  for  help  with  his 
feeble  lungs,  which  were  soon  quite  exhausted  by  the  exer 
tion.  Mad,  in  the  mean  time,  returned  by  a  circuitous  route 
through  the  fields,  and  crept  under  the  fence,  where  he  could 
just  see  the  dim  outline  of  the  colonel  in  the  darkness,  and 
enjoy  his  swearing. 

At  length  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard,  then  the  tramp 
of  a  trotting  horse,  then  voices.  Very  gay  the  voices  were ; 
but  they  were  like  swords  to  the  soul  of  young  Biddikin. 
Sophy  and  Elphaz  were  returning  from  their  drive. 

The  colonel  had  been  left  exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  road ; 
and  Mad  hoped  that  he  would  get  run  over,  and  that  all  — 
particularly  Pelt  —  would  get  broken  necks. 

The  colonel  screamed  to  avert  the  danger,  and  got  him 
self  out  of  the  track  by  turning  a  wheel  with  his  hand.  The 
horse,  hearing  the  noise,  and  seeing  a  mysterious  object  moving 


MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE.  263 

by  the  road,  dashed  aside,  and  ran  directly  into  the  fence 
behind  which  lay  Madison. 

11  What's  that  ?     Who's  there  ?  "  cried  Elphaz. 

"  Pelt !  "  returned  the  colonel.     "  Come  here  !  " 

"  Bannington  !  —  that  you?  " 

Pelt  went  to  his  client ;  and  Mad  lay  and  chuckled  while 
Bannington  told  his  story,  and  the  two  consulted. 

"  You'd  better  have  followed  my  advice,  and  got  rid  of  the 
scoundrel  a  month  ago,"  said  Elphaz.  "According  to  your 
own  account,  I  don't  see  how  the  law  can  take  hold  of  him. 
He  didn't  force  you  to  give  him  the  money?  " 

"No,"  admitted  the  client. 

"  Nor  agree  to  take  you  home  to-night?  And  you  had 
discharged  him  previously  ?  ' ' 

"That's so.  But  you'll  find  some  trap  for  him,, Pelt,  or 
you  are  no  lawyer.  Think  it  up  at  your  leisure.  But  get  me 
home  now  the  first  thing  :  I'm  half  dead." 

"I'll  go  and  get  Aaron." 

"  No,  no !  Don't  you  leave  me  a  minute.  Wheel  me 
yourself:  'tain't  far." 

"  It's  half  a  mile  at  least !     And  here  is  Sophy.  " 

"  Sophy  be  d !  Isn't  a  man's  life  of  any  conse 
quence  ?  " 

Pelt  was  in  great  perplexity.  He  didn't  like  the  job  at 
all ;  yet  he  dared  not  offend  his  client.  After  a  consultation 
with  Sophy,  who  agreed  to  drive  the  horse,  he  concluded  to 
go  before  with  the  chair. 


264  MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE. 

It  was  a  dismal  road  ;  and  they  had  hardly  got  started,  when 
Sophy  uttered  a  scream. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Elphaz. 

"  'Sh  !  "  whispered  Mad.     "  It's  me  !  " 

Pelt  left  the  chair,  and  started  to  come  back ;  when  Sophy 
hastily  cried,  — 

1 '  'Tain't  any  thing.     I  —  thought  I  was  going  to  tip  over." 

"  All  right  now  ?  "  said  Elphaz. 

"  Yes :  I  —  guess  so  !  "  —  in  an  uncertain  voice. 

"  Come  along,  then."  And  Pelt  returned  to  the  colonel ; 
while  Mad  softly  climbed  into  the  buggy,  and  took  a  seat  by 
Sophy's  side. 

"  Mad  !  you  mustn't !  "  she  whispered. 

He  answered  by  clasping  her  waist.  He  was  wildly  hila 
rious.  .He  kissed  her  savagely ;  and  still  she  did  not  dare, 
or  did  not  wish,  to  scream. 

"  Did  you  speak  ?  "  said  Elphaz. 

"  No  :  I  —  I  was  talking  to  the  horse,"  replied  the  vir 
tuous  maiden.  "  Now  go  !  — do  go,  Mad  !  " 

"  I  shall  go  mad  if  you  marry  him  !  Do  you  think  I'll 
let  you,  and  not  tell  him  something  you  wouldn't  like  to  have 
me  tell?" 

"  0  Mad !  I  don't  mean  to  marry  him :  I  only  go  with 
him  to  please  mother.  You  mustn't  turn  against  me.  Oh,  if 
you  should  !  " 

Mad  had  taken  the  reins.  He  drove  very  slow,  making 
the  most  of  his  interview,  and  terrifying  Sophy  by  his  vio 
lence.  Pelt  called  to  her  to  keep  nearer  the  chair. 


MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE.  265 

"  Ask  him  how  he  likes  his  job,"  said  Mad.  She  hesi 
tated.  "  If  you  won't,  I  will." 

"  No,  don't!  "  she  whispered;  adding,  in  sweet  accents, 
"  How  do  you  like  your  job,  Mr.  Pelt  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  very  well,"  muttered  Elphaz. 

"  Tell  him,  maybe  the  colonel  would  like  to  hire  him  by 
the  week,  in  my  place." 

"  Perhaps  Colonel  Bannington  would  like  to  employ  you 
in  Madison's  place,"  said  the  reluctant  maiden. 

"He'll  employ  me  —  to  punish  that  rascal!"  growled 
Pelt,  toiling  at  the  chair.  • 

Mad  could  scarce  restrain  his  savage  merriment.  He 
stopped  the  horse,  and  held  Sophy,  and  whispered  frantic 
things  to  her.  Then,  when  Pelt  grew  anxious,  and  called  to 
her  to  drive  on,  Mad  urged  the  animal  forward  with  head 
long  recklessness,  resolved  to  run  down  both  Pelt  and  Ban 
nington. 

"  Ho  !  hollo  !  "  shouted  Pelt ;  "  what  in  thunder  !  "  — 

"  I  didn't  see  you."  faltered  Sophy. 

"  You  broke  my  shoulder,"  scolded  the  lawyer.  "  Hold 
him,  now,  till  I  get  on  a  little  piece  ;  and  don't  drive  so  like 
Jehu  again." 

"  He  is  awful  angry  !  "  whispered  Sophy.  "  Now,  Mad, 
do  behave  yourself !  " 

"  I  will !  "  said  Mad,  crouching  in  the  fore  part  of  the 
buggy.  "You'll  see  some  bully  fun!"  And,  reaching 
over  the  dash-board,  he  pricked  the  nag  with  his  knife. 


266  MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE. 

The  animal  jumped,  and  was  on  Pelt's  heels  again  in  an 
instant.  A  volley  of  oaths  and  yells  proclaimed  the  success 
of  Mad's  experiment. 

"  ?  couldn't  hold  him  in  !  "  cried  Sophy. 

"  Murder  !  "  ejaculated  Elpbaz.  "  He  trod  right  on  my 
foot !  and  he  has  almost  killed  the  colonel !  What  the  deuse 
is  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  Tie  him  to  the  fence  !  "  snarled  the  invalid.  "  Another 
such  blow  would  dislocate  my  neck." 

"  Whoa,  bonny  ;  whoa!"  said  Elphaz,  leading  the  beast 
to  the  roadside.  "  Oh,  my  foot !  I  believe  he  has  smashed 
it!  Whoa, — ho!  —  WHOA!"  raising  his  voice  to  a 
shriek,  as,  by  another  leap  of  the  horse,  he  was  knocked 
against  the  wall,  and  jammed.  "  What  in  the  old  Harry, 
Sophy  !  "  - 

"He  acts  dreadfully!"  said  Sophy.  "Something  must 
be  biting  his  heels." 

"  He  has  finished  me  !  "  groaned  Elphaz.  "  I  never  shall 
step  on  that  leg  again  !  Oh,  my  knee  !  " 

"  Hurt  ye  much "?  "  said  Sophy  sympathetically. 

Pelt  made  no  reply,  but  twisted  one  of  the  reins  round  a 
stake  in  the  wall,  and,  groaning  and  limping,  walked  about 
the  buggy  to  discover  the  cause  of  the  animal's  unruliness. 
The  impatience  of  the  colonel  did  not  give  him  time  to  ferret 
out  Mad,  who  lay  in  ambush,  half  covered  by  Sophy's  skirts, 
and  ready  at  any  moment  to  dash  down  his  rival,  and  leap 
over  him,  in  case  of  discovery.  Sophy,  in  constant  terror  of 


MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE.  267 

some  such  catastrophe,  entreated  Elphaz  to  leave  her  where 
she  was,  and  take  the  invalid  home ;  and  drew  a  long  breath 
of  relief  when  he  consented. 

"  Now  you  must  go,  Mad  !  You  are  getting  me  into  the 
terriblest  scrape  that  ever  was  ! " 

"Ain't  it  rich?"  chuckled  Mad,  tickled  to  the  heart's 
core.  "  He's  doing  the  job  I've  been  paid  ten  dollars  for; 
and  now  I'm  going  to  have  a  ride  at  his  expense." 

"  0  Mad  !  you  mustn't !  you  can't !  " 

But,  the  next  minute,  the  wall  was  heard  tumbling  down. 

"Scream!  scream!"  whispered  Mad,  springing  into  the 
buggy  after  accomplishing  this  little  feat  and  freeing  the  rein 
from  the  stake. 

«  Q-w-w  !  o-w-w  !  "  shrieked  Sophy.     "  Mr.  P-e-l-t !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  roared  Pelt  in  the  distance. 

"  He  has  pulled  the  wall  down,  and  I  can't  hold  him !  " 
she  replied  by  Mad's  dictation. 

Elphaz  came  running  with  all  his  might ;  but  Mad  had 
already  got  the  buggy  headed  in  the  other  direction. 

"  Oh  !  quick,  quick  !  "  screamed  Sophy. 

"  Stop  him  ! "  breathlessly  shouted  the  lawyer. 

"I  can't!" 

"  Turn  him  into  the  fence  !  " 

"  He  won't  turn  !     Oh,  I  shall  be  killed  !  " 

Pelt  forgot  his  hurts,  and  ran  as  never  lawyer  ran  before ; 
but  Mad  was  down  again  at  the  dash-board  with  his  knife, 
which  he  used  discreetly,  regulating  the  horse's  speed  in  a 


268  MAD     BIDDIKIN'S     RIDE. 

manner  to  keep  Pelt  trotting  after  them  at  the  distance  of 
a  rod  or  two.  If  he  grew  discouraged,  and  lost  breath,  Mad 
slacked  up  a  little.  If  he  started  on  again,  in  the  hope  of 
catching  the  buggy  by  a  strenuous  effort,  he  was  suffered 
almost  to  reach  it ;  then  the  horse  was  once  more  spurred  into 
a  gallop,  and  he  was  left  gasping  and  wheezing,  with  aching 
lungs,  far  back  in  the  darkness.  It  was  Mad's  intention  to 
play  with  his  distress  till  the  last  moment,  and  take  him  as 
far  from  the  colonel  as  possible.  And  all  this  while  Sophy 
did  not  cease  to  scream,  and  to  implore  Elphaz  to  rescue 
her  from  the  fate  that  threatened.  But  there  is  a  limit  to 
human  endurance ;  and  finally  Pelt  gave  up  the  chase  in 
utter  exhaustion  and  despair. 

"  This  is  fancy  sport,  Sophy  !  Hear  him  blow !  And 
the  colonel  —  oh,  ho  !  "  laughed  Mad  convulsively, 

"  Do  leave  me  now  !  You've  had  fun  enough  !  "  entreat 
ed  Sophy. 

"  No,  not  by  a  jug-full !  The  hoss  is  running  away,  you 
know.  Scream,  keep  screaming  !  " 

And,  seating  himself  comfortably  at  her  side,  Mad  plied 
the  whip,  and  reined  up  the  woodland  road,  bent  on  a  jubi 
lant  night's  ride. 


THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER.  269 


XXIII. 

THE  NIGHT  ENCOUNTER. 

AVING  parted   from  Christina,   Guy  sat  that 
evening  on  a  roadside  wall,  and  watched  the 
ebbin°-  sea  of  sunset  fire,  till  of  the  crimson  foam 

O 

Venus  was  born,  interpreting  anew  the  old  myth,  —  a  soft- 
eyed  infant  star,  with  the  crescent  moon  for  a  cradle. 

Shadow  and  dewy  coolness  filled  all  the  valley,  and  hung 
upon  the  purple  mountain- slopes.  It  seemed  as  if  the  pensive- 
ness  of  Deity  had  fallen  upon  the  earth  and  upon  man.  Guy 
bared  his  head  to  the  oncoming  night ;  while  the  moon  de 
scended  behind  the  western  peaks  like  a  horn  of  white  flame, 
and  the  young  star  followed,  and  clouds  began  to  rise  like 
vast  clotted  masses  of  darkness  stretching  over  the  world. 

Long  he  sat  abstracted,  powerful  emotions  agitating  him 
as  he  reviewed  the  experience  of  the  afternoon.  It  had  been 
to  him,  in  many  respects,  a  sacred  experience.  Surprises  and 
wonders  had  marked  the  few  hours  he  had  spent  with  Chris 
tina.  The  discovery  of  the  child's  corpse  was  an  astonishing 
and  awful  manifestation  of  spiritual  power.  The  washing  of 


270  THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER. 

his  feet,  and  the  kisses  of  the  seeress,  appeared  to  him  mystic 
symbols  of  humility,  of  consecration,  and  of  celestial  love,  pure 
from  earthly  fire.  Even  the  finding  of  the  watch  he  regarded 
as  by  no  means  the  result  of  accident,  but  of  design  superior 
to  accident, — a  simple  lesson  teaching  much :  how  the  minut 
est  circumstances  of  life  are  often,  if  not  always,  shaped  by 
mysterious  agencies ;  nay,  how  even  the  action  of  the  elements, 
and  of  the  brute  creatures  of  the  earth,  may  be  controlled  for 
our  benefit  by  those  magnetic  threads  of  Providence  which  run 
through  nature  and  the  hearts  of  men,  string  good  and  evil 
together  like  many-colored  beads,  and  bind  in  exact  orbits  the 
wildest  comets  of  chance. 

The  soul  of  the  young  man,  swelling  and  throbbing  with 
these  thoughts,  put  to  itself  the  stern  question  :  "  Why  not, 
since  these  things  are  so,  surrender  myself  entirely  to  these 
influences,  and  accept  the  holy  mission  to  which  I  am  called  ?  " 
He  shuddered  with  awe,  and  yet  with  secret  joy,  as  he  remem 
bered  how  unequivocally  it  had  been  promised  by  invisible 
intelligences,  through  inspired  .lips,  that  he  should  become  a 
savior  of  men. 

Just  then,  by  no  volition  of  his  own  as  it  seemed,  but  by 
an  impulse  imparted  to  him  from  on  high,  he  turned  his  face 
upwards,  and  beheld  a  strange  appearance  in  the  heavens. 
A  broad  space  of  the  sky  was  clear  of  clouds ;  in  the  midst 
of  which  burned  the  golden  nails  of  the  great  Cross,  as  it 
were  on  the  bosom  of  God. 

Up  to  this  moment  he  had  been  utterly  unconscious  of 


THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER.  271 

every  thing  around  him.  The  chilliness,  the  deepening  dark 
ness,  the  shrill  song  of  the  field-cricket,  the  gathering  and 
breaking  of  the  clouds,  had  been  alike  unnoticed.  This  long 
and  intense  abstraction  of  his  thoughts  from  all  outward  ob 
jects  enhanced  the  effect  of  what  he  considered  a  portentous 
spectacle.  Often  as  he  had  gazed  on  the  sacred  symbol  which 
glitters  in  the  constellation  of  the  Swan,  it  had  never  before 
impressed  him  as  it  did  now.  The  canopy  of  the  sky  seemed 
rent  asunder  to  reveal  it.  He  was  seated  —  could  it  be  by 
chance  ?  —  in  an  attitude  to  view  it  in  its  natural  upright  posi 
tion.  No  other  important  group  of  stars  was  anywhere  visi 
ble  ;  but  there,  like  a  stupendous  picture  in  a  frame  of  cloud, 
hung  the  sublime  emblem  of  Christ's  suffering  and  death,  and 
of  our  faith  and  salvation. 

No  marvel,  that,  to  one  who  was  inclined  to  see  mystical 
meanings  in  every  thing,  the  apparition  should  have  seemed 
to  possess  a  significance  of  the  most  solemn  character.  But 
how  interpret  it  ?  Did  it  prefigure  to  him  his  own  heaven- 
ordained  mission  to  mankind  ?  With  rapture  and  with  wor 
ship  he  gazed,  hoping,  trembling,  pleading  for  divine  guidance, 
till  his  eyes  grew  dim,  and  suddenly  the  clouds  closed  again, 
and  the  cross  was  hidden. 

Guy  then  got  down  from  the  wall,  and  set  out  to  walk 
homewards.  Home  was  to  him  where  Lucy  was.  Often, 
during  the  afternoon,  he  had  thought  of  her  with  unaccounta 
ble  uneasiness  of  mind.  His  trouble  increased  as  be  proceeded 
on  his  way.  He  was  presently  to  meet  her;  and  what  account 


272  THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER. 

should  he  render  of  that  day's  doings  ?  How  would  she  re 
gard  those  things  which  appeared  to  him  so  momentous  and 
so  pure  ?  Ought  he  to  tell  her  all  ?  Ought  he  to  tell  her 
any  thing  ?  Had  she  been  sitting  alone  in  her  chamber  all 
the  afternoon  ?  and  could  she  listen  with  equanimity  to  the 
story  of  his  adventures  with  Christina  ? 

He  was  walking  near  the  brookside,  through  the  woods, 
his  way  dimly  lighted  by  the  heavens,  now  cloudless,  but 
obscured  by  tree-tops,  through  which  dripped  the  starlight 
here  and  there  in  golden  rain,  like  that  drizzled  into  Danae's 
lap  through  her  prison  roof.  The  brook  sang  its  ever-pen 
sive  song  in  its  lonesome  wanderings.  The  glow-worm  (rarely 
seen)  slowly  opened  its  little  lantern  under  the  bushy  bank. 
No  other  light  or  sound  diverted  his  meditations,  until  a  vehi 
cle  came  rattling  towards  him,  and  a  strong  ray  of  light  pene 
trated  the  dark  woods.  Two  men  appeared  to  be  rapidly 
looking  for  something  by  the  roadside.  As  they  approached, 
Guy  recognized  one  of  his  father's  horses  and  his  father's 
carryall;  Aaron  driving,  and  Squire  Elphaz  Pelt  bearing 
aloft  a  lantern. 

They  stopped,  and  inquired  if  he  had  seen  a  horse  running 
with  a  buggy  and  a  young  woman,  or  whether  he  had  ob 
served  the  wrecks  of  any  such  objects  in  the  road. 

Guy  said  he  had  heard  one  or  two  vehicles  pass  when  he 
had  been  sitting  on  a  wall ;  but  he  could  give  no  description 
of  them. 

"  It's  queer ! "  said  Elphaz.     "  My  horse  passed  this  way ; 


THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER.  273 

and  he  must  have  been  going  so   fast,  you  couldn't  have 
helped  noticing  him." 

"  How  did  he  get  away?  "  asked  Guy. 

"  That  rascally  young  Biddikin  left  your  father  in  the 
street  after  dark,  where  I  came  within  an  inch  of  driving 
straight  over  him.  I  suppose  that  put  the  old  scratch  into  the 
beast.  He  acted  skittish  after  it ;  and,  as  I  was  getting  the 
old  gentleman  home,  he  pulled  the  wall  down  I  had  hitched 
him  to,  and  ran  with  Sophy." 

"Now  I  recollect,"  said  Guy,  "there  must  have  been 
more  than  one  person  in  the  wagon  that  passed  me  ;  for  I 
heard  voices.  Your  horse  may  have  dashed  into  the  woods 
below  here,  if  he  came  this  way  at  all.  Give  me  the  lantern, 
and  let  me  see  if  I  can  find  any  fresh  tracks." 

Elphaz  dismounted  from  the  carryall,  and  they  looked  to 
gether  along  the  road. 

"  Hoofs  and  wheels  have  been  this  way  not  long  since," 
said  Guy  ;  "  but  a  running  horse  would  throw  up  more  dirt 
than  any  of  these  prints  show." 

"  That's  so  :  they  don't  look  like  the  tracks  we  saw  back 
here  a  piece,"  replied  Elphaz. 

"  The  corks  cut  up  the  gravel  right  smart  at  first,"  ob 
served  Aaron ;  "but  it  has  looked  to  me  all  along  as  if  the 
critter  was  slackening  his  pace." 

"  Hark  !  —  what's  that?  "  said  Guy. 

The  light  of  the  lantern  flashed  into  the  woods,  and  fell 
upon  an  extraordinary  object  near  the  brook. 
18 


274  THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER. 

11  It  moves  ! "  whispered  Elpbaz. 

"  It  is  a  woman  !  "  said  Guy. 

She  had  at  first  appeared  lying  on  the  ground ;  but  now, 
as  if  alarmed  by  the  noise  and  light,  she  rose,  and  attempted 
to  run. 

"  It's  Sophy  ! "  ejaculated  Elphaz.  "  Sophv  !  "  he  called, 
springing  after  her. 

The  hollow  woods  rang  with  the  wild  cry ;  but  the  fugi 
tive  heeded  it  only  to  quicken  her  pace.  Suddenly  she  fell. 

' '  She  has  been  flung  from  the  buggy,  and  her  brain  has 
been  injured,"  suggested  Guy,  hastening  to  the  lawyer's 
side. 

They  reached  the  spot  where  she  was.  She  sat  on  the 
ground,  leaning  against  a  log  which  had  probably  occasioned 
her  fall.  She  made  no  further  attempt  to  escape.  Guy  laid 
hold  of  her  gently,  bending  over  her,  and  asking  if  she  was 
hurt ;  little  guessing  how  she  had  been  hurt,  or  by  whom. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  appeared  to  be  arranging  her 
hair ;  when  Pelt  anxiously  advanced  the  lantern  to  her  face. 
Even  before  the  glare  of  light  fell  upon  that  pallid,  despair 
ing  countenance,  a  chill  of  astonishment  and  terror  had  shot 
to  Guy's  soul. 

"  Good  laws  ! "  exclaimed  Elphaz :  "  it  ain't  Sophy!  "  — 
stooping,  the  lantern  dangling  from  his  hand.  "Lucy  Ar- 
lyn  !  " 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  how  came  you  here  ?  "  hurriedly 
demanded  Guy. 


THE     NIGHT    ENCOUNTER.  275 

"I  am  not  hurt.  I  ran,  —  I  don't  know  why,"  said 
Lucy  with  a  bewildered  air.  "  Have  you  been  looking  for 
me  long?" 

"  We  have  not  been  looking  for  you.  How  came  you 
here  ?  What  ails  you,  Lucy  ?  " 

"Nothing,  —  nothing  at  all.  Who  were  you  looking 
for?" 

"  Your  cousin  Sophy.  She  has  been  run  away  with,"  an 
swered  Guy,  trembling  with  undefined  apprehension. 

"  Come  along,"  said  Aaron  to  Elphaz.  "  They  under 
stand  each  other,  and  don't  want  any  of  our  help." 

The  wagon  went  its  way,  the  lantern  disappeared,  and 
Guy  and  Lucy  were  left  alone  in  the  darkness  of  the  woods. 

The  unhappy  girl,  dragging  herself  homeward  from  her 
Yisit  to  the  cascades,  had  sunk  down  in  a  trance  of  misery 
and  physical  exhaustion  near  the  spot  where  she  was  discov 
ered.  But  she  was  now  sufficiently  aroused  to  perceive  all 
the  embarrassment  of  her  situation.  She  had  resolved  in 
her  soul,  that,  if  ever  Guy  saw  her  again,  he  should  not 
know  from  her  lips  what  she  had  that  afternoon  witnessed ; 
and  how  to  account  to  him  for  her  present  condition  she  could 
not  contrive.  In  vain  she  assumed  an  air  of  cheerfulness, 
and  took  his  arm,  assuring  him  that  she  was  well,  and  able 
to  walk.  He  questioned  her  at  first  tenderly,  but  at  length 
impatiently.  Her  answers  were  incoherent  and  constrained. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  was  tired,  and  sat  down.  I  think  I 
must  have  fallen  asleep." 


276  THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER. 

"  Why  did  you  attempt  to  get  away  from  me  ?  " 

"I  —  did  not  —  know  you  —  at  first, ' '  faltered  Lucy j 
which  was  perhaps  true. 

"  Still  you  thought  we  were  looking  for  you." 

"  I  knew  by  what  I  heard  that  you  were  looking  for  some 
one.  I  was  ashamed  of  having  made  trouble,  and  I  thought 
I  might  get  home  without  being  seen." 

Her  replies  were  becoming  more  natural  and  satisfactory 
than  at  first.  Still  the  strangeness  of  her  manner  betrayed 
too  plainly  that  she  had  suffered  some  unusual  stroke,  on  the 
subject  of  which  she  was  persistently  silent. 

"  Very  well !  "  he  said  bitterly.  "  Treat  me  as  a  stran 
ger  ;  conceal  from  me  your  motives ;  leave  your  conduct  a 
mystery.  No  doubt  I  have  deserved  it." 

"  What  a  woman  suffers,  what  a  woman  in  my  condition 
must  suffer,  any  moment  when  she  pauses  to  think,  will 
always  be  a  mystery  to  any  one  but  a  woman,"  answered 
Lucy. 

The  words  fell  like  fiery  coals  on  his  heart. 

"  I  have  done  every  thing  for  you  I  could, —  all  you  would 
let  me  do.  What  more  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Be  kind  to  me  !  "  murmured  Lucy  in  faint  accents,  full 
of  helpless  pain  and  entreaty. 

"  Am  I  not  kind?  But  your  strange  conduct  tortures  me 
beyond  endurance.  This  lying  out  in  the  woods  at  night  is 
like  the  act  of  an  insane  person ;  and,  when  I  require  to 
know  the  cause  of  your  being  here,  you  equivocate,  and  hint 


THE     NIGHT     ENCOUNTER.  277 

darkly  of  sufferings  of  which  you  will  not  tell  me  any  thing 
frankly.  Are  you  jealous  again?  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  jealous  any  more.  I  have  been  cured  of 
jealousy  forever !  " 

"  Before  Heaven,  I  swear  I  have  not  been  untrue  to  you  !  " 
Guy  continued  impetuously.  "  If  you  would  only  be 
lieve  me !  —  if  you  would  only  trust  me  !  But  you  won't. 
Nothing  I  can  say  or  do  will  convince  you  of  the  truth.  I 
can  endure  any  thing  but  this  concealment  and  despondency, 
these  sighs  and  tears  which  drive  me  mad."' 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  them  any  more,"  said  Lucy. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  —  beseemed  too  much  absorbed  in 
his  own  feelings  to  heed  how  his  cruel  words  crushed  her,  — 
"  nothing  I  would  not  sacrifice  for  your  happiness.  But 
all  in  vain.  I  cannot  make  you  happy  !  " 

She  made  no  answer,  and  he  said  no  more.  They  walked 
to  Jehiel's  house  in  silence.  Perhaps  Guy  was  not  the  least 
miserable  of  the  two.  His  sufferings  were  fiery  and  keen, 
while  hers  had  settled  into  a  dull  ache,  —  a  cold,  curdling 
sorrow.  At  the  door  he  relented ;  love  and  pity  softening  a 
heart  which  could  be  as  tender  at  one  moment  as  it  was  flinty 
at  another.  But  her  reserve  repelled  him  :  and  she  went  up 
alone  to  her  wretched  room,  unutterably  desolate;  while  he 
parted  from  her  as  he  had  never  done  before,  gnashing  his 
teeth,  —  a  spectacle  to  the  calm  stars,  and  to  the  angels  that 
look  down  with  sad  commiseration  at  the  perverse  ways  of 
men. 


278  ABBER   TAKES  NOTES. 


XXIV. 

ABNER    TAKES  NOTES. 

AVING  scoured  the  country  roads  in  the  vain 
search  for  a  vehicle  dashed  to  pieces,  and  a 
young  lady's  mangled  remains,  Elphaz  parted 
from  Aaron,  and  hastened  to  inform  Mrs.  Pinworth  of  the 
mysterious  occurrence. 

He  found  the  runaway  horse  quietly  standing  at  the  gate, 
and  Sophy  waiting  for  him  in  the  parlor.  She  flew  to  meet 
him  with  her  mouth  full  of  lies  and  kisses.  Where  had  he 
been  ?  How  glad  she  was  to  see  him !  What  a  fright  she 
had  had !  And  wasn't  it  strange  that  she  should  have  got 
home  before  him  ! 

"  Very  strange !  "  murmured  Pelt,  looking  puzzled  with 
one  eye,  and  suspicious  with  the  other. 

"  He  carried  me  clear  round  by  the  East  Street,  down  the 
Crags  Road,  and  home  by  the  South  Street,"  chattered  Sophy. 
"And  don't  you  think,  before  he  got  to  the  village,  he  was 
just  as  manageable  as  could  be  !  —  and  I  drove  him  right  up 
here,  and  hitched  him,  without  any  trouble  at  all !  Wasn't 
it  funny  ?  " 


ABNER     TAKES     NOTES.  279 

"  Rather  funny  !  "  said  Elphaz,  believing  there  was  treach 
ery  somewhere.  He  examined  the  horse,  and  found  a  brier 
attached  to  his  tail.  Sophy  was  astonished  when  told  of  it, 
and  declared  that  it  accounted  for  the  animal's  singular  beha 
vior.  Wisely  resolved  to  wait  for  more  evidence  before  ex 
pressing  an  opinion,  the  lawyer  preserved  the  brier  and  a 
rather  grim  silence  ;  bade  Sophy  a  cool  good-night ;  then  drove 
the  horse  half  round  the  village  in  order  to  take  him  by  a 
back  way  to  the  tavern-stables,  and  avoid  getting  laughed  at 
by  the  boys  about  the  bar-room. 

One  of  the  dreaded  youths  was  Mad  Biddikin,  in  high 
spirits  after  his  adventure ;  drinking,  and  treating  his  com 
panions  with  the  generosity  and  jocularity  of  one  who  was 
conscious  of  spending  money  received  for  a  job  which  he  had 
left  a  ridiculously  duped  rival  to  perform.  He  went  to  bed 
that  night  in  a  room  which  whirled  round  and  round  in  a 
dizzy  vortex ;  and  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  headache, 
penniless. 

Being  out  of  employment  and  out  of  funds,  the  filial  youth 
bethought  him  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  father. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon.  Doctor  Biddikin  was  with  Job  in 
the  upper  story  of  the  house,  renovating  the  sleeping-rooms, 
when  the  unmistakable  footsteps  were  heard  ascending  the 
stairs. 

"  Madison  !  —  my  son  Madison  !  "  The  delighted  senior 
hastily  wiped  his  fingers,  and  ran  to  hug  in  his  puny  arms  the 
junior,  who  grinned  like  a  lusty  young  giant  over  the  little 
old  man's  shoulder. 


280  ABNER      TAKES     NOTES. 

"  What's  the  row  here  ?  "  said  Mad,  glancing  at  the  scene 
of  his  operations. 

Biddikin,  clinging  to  his  son  with  unusual  emotion,  could 
not  speak  for  a  moment. 

"I  am  exterminating  the  parasites  of  these  bedsteads: 
you  know  what  I  mean,  —  the  Cimex  lectularius,"  he  said, 
instinctively  disguising  in  elegant  and  learned  phrase  the  vul 
garity  of  his  occupation.  "I  am  preparing  these  rooms  for 
company.  We  are  going  to  dig  for  the  money  in  earnest  in 
a  week  or  two ;  and  this  house  is  to  be  the  headquarters  of 
the  mediums." 

"  Bully  for  you,  old  Beeswax! "  cried  the  admiring  junior. 
"Who  furnishes  funds?" 

"  Can't  you  address  your  father  a  little  more  respectfully  ? 
And  do  abandon  the  use  of  that  outlandish  slang  !  "  said  the 
doctor,  returning  to  a  bottle  of  liquid  a  feather  which  he  had 
been  using  about  the  apertures  and  creases  of  the  bedsteads. 
"  Good  times  are  coming  ;  and  let  us  see  if  we  can't  be  wor 
thy  of  our  name  and  station,  my  son  ! "  —  with  a  smirk  of 
the  old  Biddikin  pride.  "  The  funds  will  be  forthcoming. 
We  have  had  the  sight  of  money ;  haven't  we,  Job. 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  simpered  Job  :  "  lots  of  money  !  " 

"  You  have  come  home  to  stay,  my  son,  haven't  you?" 
added  the  old  man  with  another  gush  of  affection.  "  Kiss 
me !  —  give  me  a  kiss,  Madison  !  " 

Mad  scowled,  but  concluded  to  grant  the  boon,  from  mer 
cenary  motives. 


ABNER  TAKES  NOTES.          281 

"  Is  the  young  woman  with  the  devil  in  her  going  to  be 
here?" 

"  That  woman  is  an  angel !  —  an  angel,  my  son  !  "  repeated 
the  doctor,  trembling  with  the  fervor  of  his  feelings.  "  A 
beautiful  spirit !  —  a  wonderful  being  !  She  were  here  last 
night ;  and  she  has  blessed  my  soul !  —  she  has  blessed  my 
soul!  "  —  spoken  with  quivering  lips,  while  tears  started  in 
the  old  man's  eyes. 

"  If  she's  to  be  here,  there'll  be  fan,"  said  Mad.  "  I'll 
stay." 

"  I  am  acting  under  her  directions.  She  has  promised  to 
attend  to  my  interests :  I  shall  trust  every  thing  to  her.  Quit 
your  degrading  occupation,  and  come  home,  Maddie.  There 
is  no  place  like  home,  and  nobody  like  a  father ! "  said  the 
old  man,  carried  away  by  his  parental  feelings.  "  Come, 
Maddie,  my  boy  !  sit  in  my  lap  as  you  used  to  !  "  —  pull 
ing  the  strapping  youth  down  upon  his  lank  knees,  and  hug 
ging  him,  greatly  to  the  edification  of  Job. 

"  Mad's  come  home  !  "  said  the  crow,  perching  in  the 
open  window.  "  Laugh,  Jack  !  "  And  the  impish  creature 
fluttered,  and  bobbed  his  head,  and  repeated  his  wild  "  Ha ! 
ha !  "  as  if  he  had  a  human  sense  of  the  ludicrous  scene. 

Like  Gulliver  in  the  arms  of  a  Liliputian,  Mad  sat  and 
grinned,  putting  his  stout  arm  about  the  other's  skinny  neck, 
and  insinuating  the  financial  question  which  was  uppermost 
in  his  mind. 

"  After  money,  the  first  thing  !  "  said  Biddikin  reproach- 


282  ABNER   TAKES  NOTES. 

fully.  "Is  this  your  love  for  your  —  ah!  you  sit  rather 
hard,  my  son  !  " 

"  Give  me  five  dollars  !  "  laughed  Mad,  tightening  his  em 
brace. 

"  Ah  !  oh  !  Maddie,  my  son  !  let  up  a  little  !  I'd  for 
gotten  you  are  no  longer  a  child!  Ah!  "  —  a  groan  of 
pain. 

"  Five  dollars,  old  boy  !  " 

"  Not  a  cent,  you  ingrate  !  you  —  oh  !  you  crush  me  !  " 

"  Affectionate  son ;  ain't  I,  Job  ?  "  cried  Mad. 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  said  Job. 

"  0  Madison  !  "  squeaked  the  sufferer,  "you're  murder 
ing  me  !  I  haven't  a  cent  of  money,  or  I'd  give  it  you, 
ungrateful  as  you  are  !  " 

"  I'll  see  whether  you've  got  money.  Give  me  that  bed- 
cord,  Job !" 

"  Don't  you,  Job  !     I'll  scream  !     Murd  "  — 

The  senior's  utterance  was  impeded  by  the  junior,  who 
found  it  necessary  to  embrace  the  paternal  neck  and  pat  the 
paternal  head  somewhat  rudely,  in  order,  as  he  expressed 
it,  to  make  him  "  dry  up."  Job,  in  the  mean  time,  albeit 
unwillingly,  handed  the  bed-cord ;  with  which  Mad  proceeded 
to  bind  his  captive  hand  and  foot,  and  lash  him  to  the  chair. 

"  You  burglar  !  you  assassin  !  "  cried  the  struggling  old 
man,  as  his  son  rifled  his  pockets.  "  Not  a  cent  of  money 
shall  you  have ;  not  one  cent !  " 

"  Then  here  goes  !  "    Mad  lifted  the  chair,  with  his  parent 


AENEE     TAKES     NOTES.  283 

in  it,  to  the  window-sill.  "  Tell  me  where  your  money  is, 
or  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul !  " 

"  Unnatural  child  !  will  you  kill  me  ?  I  have  no  money  : 
Job  knows  I  haven't !  Have  I,  Job  ?  " 

"  N-o-o-o  !  "  drawled  the  terrified  Job. 

Mad  balanced  the  chair  in  the  window  long  enough  to  give 
the  old  man  ample  time  for  consideration  :  then,  twisting  the 
loose  end  of  the  cord  about  a  bed-post,  he  lowered  his  scream 
ing  victim  from  the  sill,  and  left  him  suspended  betwixt 
heaven  and  earth,  with  his  face  towards  the  street,  and  his 
back  against  the  clapboards. 

"  Hang  there,  you  last  year's  bird's-nest !  "  he  cried  from 
the  casement  above. 

"Where's  Biddikin?"  said  the  crow.  "Laugh,  Jack! 
Ha !  ha  ! "  and  after  flying  about  the  gibbet,  cawing  exult 
antly,  a  minute  or  two,  he  ended  by  alighting  on  the  bald 
crown  of  the  doctor. 

"  *  Ingratitude  !  thou  marble-hearted  fiend  ! '  "  said  the  old 
man,  resorting  to  Shakspeare  for  words  strong  enough  to  ex 
press  his  sense  of  injury,  —  "  '  more  hideous,  when  thou  show- 
est  thee  in  a  child,  than  the  sea-serpent ! '  Madison,  dror  me 
up!" 

"  Tell  me  where  your  cash  is !  "  said  the  inexorable  youth. 
Getting  no  response,  he  took  Job  to  the  window  to  witness 
the  picturesque  spectacle.  "  Fun  ;  ain't  it,  Job  ?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  gasped  the  little  wretch,  pale  with  fear. 

"  '  Sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thankless 


284  ABNER     TAKES     NOTES. 

child  ! '  "  remarked  the  gibbeted  doctor.  "  I'll  stay  here,  and 
show  to  the  world  what  a  son  I  have,  and  how  he  treats  me  !  " 

"  You'll  do  wonders  !  "  Mad  retorted.  "  God  made  you 
to  ride  toads  to  water.  —  Come,  Job,  le's  have  a  game  of  eu 
chre."  And,  taking  a  pack  of  greasy  cards  from  his  pocket, 
he  sat  down  on  a  bed-quilt,  and  commenced  sorting  them. 
He  was  initiating  Job  into  the  mystery  of  the  bowers,  occa 
sionally  putting  his  head  out  of  the  window  to  make  a  pleas 
ant  remark,  when  a  buggy  passed  the  gate. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  friend,  help  !  "  called  the  doctor. 

The  vehicle  stopped,  and  the  driver  stared  with  amaze 
ment  at  the  improvised  gibbet,  and  the  carrion-bird  already 
alighted  on  the  head  of  the  victim. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  Doctor  Biddikin  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  robbed,  —  murdered,  —  hung  out  of  my  own 
window,  — by  my  own  son  !  " 

The  features  of  the  young  man  in  the  buggy  relaxed  with 
a  grin  of  cunning;  and,  after  scratching  his  head  —  a  red  one 
—  for  a  minute,  he  took  a  note-book  from  his  pocket,  and  be 
gan  to  write. 

"  Don't  delay  an  instant !  "  cried  the  doctor,  "  if  you 
would  save  my  life !  The  rope  has  cut  me  in  two  !  I  am 
nearly  dead  ! ' ' 

The  young  man  coolly  continued  to  write. 

"Look  here,  Abner  Roane  !  "  suddenly  shouted  Mad, 
shaking  his  fist  from  the  window :  "if  you  don't  want  your 
cocoanut  cracked,  you  better  go  about  your  business." 


ABNER     TAKES     NOTES.  285 

"I'm  about  my  business,"  replied  Abner.  "  He  robbed 
you,  did  you  say?" 

"He  tied  me  hand  and  foot,  and  then  picked  my  pock 
ets,"  said  Biddikin  in  his  gibbet.  "  Didn't  he,  Job  ?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  piped  a  feeble  voice,  quickly  stifled  by  a  blow 
from  Mad's  back  hand. 

Abner  carefully  noted  down  the  charges,  laughing  secret 
ly  to  think  how  Pelt  and  the  colonel  would  prize  them.  Mad 
seemed  to  suspect  his  intentions ;  for  he  came  bounding  down 
the  stairs,  and  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

"  Do  you  want  to  lose  that  flaming  red  top-knot  o'  yourn  ?  " 
showing  his  menacing  fingers. 

"  Ain't  particular  about  it,"  replied  Abner,  grinning  still, 
but  pale.  Mad  uttered  a  threat,  which  the  other  thought  it 
judicious  to  write  down.  "  Did  you  say  my  neck,  or  my 
back  ?  "  paring  his  pencil. 

"  I'll  break  your  neck  and  your  back  too,  if  you  don't  "  — 

"  Wait  a  minute  :  *  Neck  and  back  too,'  "  Abner  wrote. 
"  Now  proceed." 

But  Mad's  attention  had  been  suddenly  diverted  in  another 
direction. 

"  Thank  Heaven !  "  groaned  Biddikin,  "  succor  has  come 
at  last!" 

Miss  Lingham  and  her  friend  the  philanthropist  were  ap 
proaching  arm  and  arm  on  the  roadside.  Hearing  a  call  for 
help,  they  looked  up  at  the  curious  object  hung  out  of  the 
window. 


286  ABNER     TAKES     NOTES. 

"  Brother  Biddikin  !  "  said  Mr.  Murk,  his  nose  elevated, 
and  his  mouth  wide  open.  "  That  must  be  the  work  of  spir 
its  ;  and  a  very  remarkable  manifestation  !  Don't  you  think 
so,  Sister  Lingham  ?  " 

"  Certingly  !  "  said  Sister  Lingham. 

"It's  the  work  of  spirits  !  "  Mad  mockingly  repeated ;  "  and 
I  was  the  medium  !  " 

"  Where's  Biddikin?  "  said  the  crow,  mournfully,  from  his. 
perch  on  the  bald  crown. 

"Look  at  me!"  cried  the  doctor;  "then  look  at  that 
hard-hearted  son  !  I  am  suffering  dreadful  torments.  But, 
don't  take  me  down :  leave  me  here  as  a  monument.  Let; 
the  world  approach,  and  witness  the  spectacle.  Let  parents 
take  warning  by  this  outrage." 

Slowly  Mr.  Murk  turned  his  fishy  eyes  from  the  monu 
ment  to  Mad,  whom  he  contemplated  with  a  sapient,  satisfied 
nod. 

"The  young  man  is  influenced  by  mischievous  spirits; 
don't  you  think  so,  Sister  Lingham  ?  " 

"  Certingly,"  said  Sister  Lingham  ;  while  the  philanthro 
pist's  Swedenborgian  arm  confirmed  the  opinion. 

"  Yes,  it's  spirits  !  "  said  Mad,  also  shaking  his  fist.  "  And 
look  out  they  don't  influence  me  to  knock  off  ten  or  a  dozen 
superfluous  inches  of  your  nose." 

"  Brother,"  —  Mr.  Murk  addressed  the  red-haired  young 
man,  —  "as  friends  of  humanity,  I  think  we  ought  to  make 
an  effort  to  relieve  our  suffering  brother." 


ABNER  TAKES  NOTES.          287 

Upon  which  hint,  Abner  tied  his  horse,  and  went  grin 
ning  to  see  what  could  be  done. 

"  Don't  try  to  dror  me  up ;  let  me  down  !  "  cried  the  doc 
tor.  "  If  the  rope  ain't  long  enough,  there's  another." 

This  suggestion  was  followed ;  and  Mr.  Murk  and  Abner, 
leaning  out  of  the  chamber  window,  let  the  gibbet  cautiously 
down. 

"  Where's  Biddikin  ?  "  repeated  the  crow,  balancing  him 
self  with  his  wings  as  the  chair  tipped  in  descending.  "  That's 
the  talk  !  "  he  added,  as  Miss  Lingham  steadied  it  with  her 
hands.  And,  never  quitting  his  station,  there  he  sat  solemnly 
on  the  doctor's  glistening  scalp  till  Abner  and  Mr.  Murk 
came  from  the  chamber. 

Mr.  Murk  proceeded,  with  Miss  Lingham's  assistance,  to 
untie  the  knots ;  while  Abner  once  more  made  use  of  his  note 
book. 

"  Haste  !  "  said  the  doctor.  "  I  am  impatient  to  chastise 
that  boy  !  You  sor  him  strike  me ;  didn't  you,  Job  ?  " 

' '  Y-a-a-s  !  ' '  said  Job,  holding  a  dirty  jack-of-spades  in  his 
hand. 

"  And  choke  me  :  didn't  he  choke  me  hard  ? " 

"Y-a-a-s:  orful  I " 

"  You  can  take  your  oath  ;  can't  you,  Job?  And  hasn't 
he  done  it  often,  —  a  hundred  times  ?  " 

"  Wait,"  said  Abner,  writing  rapidly.  "  That's  very  im 
portant  !  A  —  hundred  ' '  — 


288  ABNER      TAKES     NOTES. 

"Look  here  !  "  cried  Mad,  striding  fiercely  towards  Job. 
"  Did  I  strike  him  ?  Dare  you  say  I  struck  him  ?  " 

"  N-o-o,  I  dasn't !  "  said  Job. 

"  Job,  Job  !  "  ejaculated  Biddikin,  "  didn't  he  strike  me  ? 
Tell  the  truth,  Job  !  " 

"  Y-a-a-s,  he  did,"  said  Job  :  "  knocked  yer  head  !  " 

"  My  life  ain't  safe  in  his  hands,  you  see,  gentlemen  !  — 
Oh,  you  ingrate  !  you  monster  !  " 

And  the  doctor,  as  soon  as  he  had  one  hand  at  liberty, 
clinched  it,  and  made  a  dash  at  Mad,  dragging  the  chair  and 
plenty  of  loose  rope  after  him. 

"  Let  him  come  !  "  said  Mad  in  a  pugilistic  attitude,  set 
ting  his  chin  out  tauntingly,  and  playing  his  fists  at  the  old 
man's  face.  "  I've  knocked  him  down  many  a  time,  fast  as 
he  could  pick  himself  up." 

"  How  many  times?  "  said  Abner,  looking  over  his  pencil. 

Pencil  and  note-book  flew  into  the  air  at  a  stroke  from 
Mad's  boot ;  who  remarked,  as  Abncr  sprang  to  recover  his 
property,  that  he  was  used  to  kicking  foot-ball. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  pallid  Abner,  "you  would  like  to 
kick  me.  .  I  want  you  all  to  witness  it  if  he  does." 

"Don't  you  do  it,  Madison!"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 
"  He'll  take  the  lor  of  you.  Don't  you  !  " 

"  If  I  should,  'twould  be  the  last  of  him  !  "  said  Mad,  with 
his  foot  drawn  back.  "  There'd  be  nothing  left  but  a  grease- 
spot." 

"  Never  mind !  "  —  Abner  finished  his  writing  with  a  trem- 


ABNER     TAKES     NOTES.  289 

bling  hand.  "  It  was  an  assault  to  kick  my  book.  You  all 
saw  it.  Besides,"  —  he  tapped  his  notes  craftily,  —  "I've 
enough  here  to  fix  him  !  " 

"He's  been  taking  evidence!"  ejaculated  the  doctor. 
"  Madison,  run  for  your  life  !  He'll  have  you  up  for  strik 
ing  me  !  " 

"And  choking  you!"  grinned  Abner;  "and  robbing 
you!" 

"It's  false  ! ' '  retorted  Biddikin.  * '  It's  a  sheer  fabrication. 
Go  about  your  business  !  " 

"  It's  my  business  to  get  him  arrested  on  your  complaint," 
said  Abner,  retreating. 

"I've  made  no  complaint !  "  The  doctor  compressed  his 
lips  firmly,  stiffening  his  meagre  neck.  "  How  could  he  rob 
me  ?  I  had  no  money,  —  not  a  cent ;  had  I,  Job  ?  " 

"  N-o-o  ! "  said  Job.  "  Felt  in  all  your  pockets :  couldn't 
find  none." 

"He's  my  son;  I  can  let  him  abuse  me  if  I  choose: 
shouldn't  you  say  so,  Mr.  Murk?  "  cried  the  excited  doctor. 
"  Isn't  it  a  pity  father  and  son  can't  have  a  little  altercation, 
but  a  lawyer  must  interfere?  You  contemptible"  —  and 
the  fierce  little  man  made  a  sally  at  Abner,  who  jumped  into 

the  buggy,  shaking  his  note-book  triumphantly,  and  drove 

a 
away. 

"  Let  us  keep  calm,"  said  the  philanthropic  Murk  with  a 
dull  smile.     "  All  these  things  have  their  use,  brother.     The 
experience  of  being  hung  out  of  a  window  was  necessary  for 
19 


290  ABXER   TAKES  NOTES. 

you.     No  doubt  it  has  some  very  beautiful  significance ;  don't 
you  think  so,  sister?" 

"  Most  certingly,"  said  Miss  Lingham  with  a  sympathizing 
smile. 

"The  young  man" — meaning  Mad — "was  only  an 
agent  The  other  young  man,  whatever  he  may  do,  is  only 
an  agent.  We  cannot  help  what  we  do.  The  spirits  know 
what  is  necessary.  Evil  is  just  as  necessary  as  good  is  ;  and 
evil  is  no  more  evil  than  good  is  evil.  Strictly  speaking,"  — 
the  philanthropist  squinted  sagaciously,  —  "  there  is  no  evil. 
Don't  you  say  so,  sister?  "  turning  to  Miss  Lingham. 

"That  is  comforting  doctrine,  truly  !"  remarked  Doctor 
Biddikin,  recovering  his  equanimity  and  his  genteel  manners. 
"But  I  —  I'm  not  sure" —  thumbs  together  —  "but  it 
would  encourage  vice." 

"  Do  you  know  the  difference  between  vice  and  virtue  ?  " 
asked  the  sapient  Murk.  "  They  are  the  two  poles  of  the 
same  battery.  If  there  was  no  vice,  there  could  be  no  virtue. 
And  as  for  vice  being  encouraged,  what  is  necessary  will  be. 
See  there  !  the  wise  Athenian  indorses  that ! "  —  wagging  his 
Socratic  arm. 

"Well,  well!"  cried  Biddikin  with  airy  affability,  "it 
may  be  so :  I'm  not  prepared  to  say.  But  walk  in ;  for  I 
suppose  you  have  come  to  converse  about  affairs." 

"  Shall  we  go  in  ?"  Murk  paused  a  moment,  then  wagged 
both  hands.  "  Yes,  the  spirits  say,  '  Go  in.' '  And,  giving 
Socrates  to  Miss  Lingham,  he  escorted  her  into  the  house, 
following  the  doctor. 


ABNER  TAKES  NOTES.  291 

Mad  rolled  on  the  grass,  playing  with  the  crow,  which 
perched,  now  on  his  wrist,  and  now  on  the  sole  of  his  upraised 
foot,  and  now  picked  his  pockets  for  corn ;  until  Job  brought 
the  cards,  and  sat  down  by  command  to  resume  the  game  of 
euchre,  —  a  three-handed  game,  as  it  proved ;  Jack  taking 
the  first  "  trick,"  and  flying  with  it  to  the  top  of  the  chimney. 


292       JUSTICE    PELT    AND    THE    PRISONER. 


XXV. 

JUSTICE  PELT  AND   THE  PRISONER. 

HE  young  man  whipping  his  horse  so  smartly 
down  the  road  is  Abner,  hastening  with  his 
note-book  to  rejoice  the  heart  of  Elphaz,  and  to 
earn  the  lasting  gratitude  of  Colonel  Bannington. 

Luckily,  Elphaz  is  a  justice  of  the  peace.  Luckily,  Aaron 
Burble  is  a  constable.  Before  night,  a  warrant  is  out  for  the 
arrest  of  Madison.  But  the  question  arises,  How  to  catch 
him  ?  The  rogue  can  run  like  a  deer ;  while  Aaron,  though 
a  man  of  mighty  muscle,  is  not  fleet  of  foot :  and,  after  two 
days'  unsuccessful  endeavors  to  effect  the  capture,  the  ques 
tion  still  remains  to  be  solved. 

The  elder  Biddikin  is  in  great  distress  for  his  son's  safety, 
and  watches  by  day,  and  lies  awake  nights,  and  abuses  the 
constable.  But  Mad  thinks  it  fun  to  dodge  an  officer ;  and, 
trusting  to  his  cunning  and  his  heels,  even  ventures  to  show 
himself  in  the  village  whilst  Aaron  is  looking  for  him  on  the 
mountain. 

To  enhance  the  sport,  he  addresses  a  note  to  -Sophy,  invit- 


JUSTICE    PELT    AND     THE    PRISONER.       293 

ing  her  to  meet  him  at  evening  by  the  mill-pond.  He  drops 
it  himself  in  the  post-office.  Mrs.  Pinworth  takes  it  out; 
recognizes  the  superscriber ;  opens  it  on  the  spot,  and  car 
ries  it  straight,  not  to  Sophy,  but  to  Elphaz  Pelt. 

Not  being  in  her  daughter's  confidence,  how  could  the 
excellent  woman  know  the  danger  of  betraying  one  who  held 
in  his  possession  secrets,  which,  if  he  divulged  them,  might  be 
fatal  to  Sophy's  matrimonial  prospects  ? 
*  The  lawyer  looked  grim.  "  Is  she  still  in  communication 
with  that  villain  ?  "  — both  eyes  sparkling,  one  at  the  letter, 
the  other  at  the  widow. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  Pinworth  relict  with  precise 
dignity,  "  has  too  much  respect  for  herself,  Squire  Pelt!  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  her  indignation  when  she  read  that 
letter !  She  thought  you  ought  to  be  made  aware  of  his 
designs  at  once." 

Elphaz  had  been  cool  towards  Sophy  since  the  night  of  the 
ride ;  but  this  maidenly  proof  of  her  fidelity  to  him  revived  his 
confidence  and  rekindled  his  ardor.  His  spirits  rose  as  he 
re-read  the  letter  and  formed  his  plans. 

Meanwhile  the  widow  hastened  to  bring  forward  events 
which  she  had  got  considerably  the  start  of  in  her  narrative ; 
and  Sophy  was  made  aware  at  the  same  moment  of  the  exist 
ence  of  Mad's  note,  and  of  its  delivery  into  his  enemy's 
hands. 

"  0  ma!  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  and  incensed  young 
lady,  "  what  a  goose  you  are  !  Mad  will  think  I  did  it ;  and 
he'll  be  the  ruination  of  me  1  " 


294       JUSTICE    PELT    AND     THE    PRISONER. 

"  Why,  Sophy,  I  meant  it  all  for  the  best !  What  can  he 
do"  — 

"  You're  a  goose  !  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it !  "  said 
the  dove. 

And  they  fell  to  pecking  each  other  spitefully,  until  the 
eagle  arrived ;  when  straightway  they  began  to  coo  softly,  and 
the  younger  presented  her  amiable  bill  to  the  beak  of  tho 
royal  bird. 

"  A  pleasant  little  billet-ducks  you  received  this  morning; 
Sophy." 

"  That  impudent  letter,  Mr.  Pelt !  I'll  teach  him  to  write 
me  such  things !  " 

"  You  did  well  to  send  it  to  me,  my  dear." 

"To  whom  should  I  refer  such  things  but  to  my  protector?  " 
And  the  dove  nestled  fondly  in  the  eagle's  bosom. 

His  errand  was  to  borrow  a  little  of  her  plumage ;  namely, 
a  bonnet  and  shawl.  She  could  not  refuse  to  lend  them ;  but, 
as  soon  as  he  was  gone,  she  hurriedly  penned  a  billet  to-  Mad, 
telling  him  what  had  occurred,  excusing  herself,  and  warning 
him  not  to  come  that  evening  to  the  pond-side.  But  how  get 
the  note  to  him?  It  was  impossible;  and,  an  hour  after  it 
was  written,  she  burnt  it  in  despair.  Evening  came,  and 
Mad  came  with  it  to  the  pond-side.  It  was  just  at  dusk.  The 
pond  was  unruffled.  Cool  and  still  stood  the  trees  in  the 
twilight  over  the  water ;  cool  and  still  hung  their  images  in 
the  glassy  liquid  below.  But  the  beauty  of  the  evening  had 
few  charms  for  Mad's  heated  brain.  He  saw  a  girlish  form 


JUSTICE    PELT    AND    THE    PRISONER.       295 

walking  by  some  bushes  on  the  shore,  and  stole  near  enough 
to  recognize  Sophy's  bonnet  and  shawl.  He  advanced 
quickly,  uttered  a  gleeful  laugh,  and  threw  his  arms  affec 
tionately  about  the  waist  of  —  Ann  Maria  Burble  ! 

He  was  lifting  her  veil  to  kiss  her ;  when  out  of  the  bushes 
stepped  Aaron,  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  with  a 
quiet —  "I  want  you,  young  man." 

Mad  was  stunned  for  an  instant.  He  looked  at  Aaron ; 
he  knew  Ann  Maria ;  he  saw  himself  betrayed,  a  prisoner ; 
but  only  for  an  instant. 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  he  ejaculated,  as  with  a  sudden  wrench 
he  freed  his  shoulder.  He  made  a  lunge  at  the  bushes.  There 
he  ran  into  the  ambushed  arms  of  Elphaz  and  Abner.  Wheel 
ing  again,  he  dodged  low,  as  Aaron  swooped  to  catch  him, 
fell,  and  flopped  into  the  water  like  a  fish. 

He  was  an  accomplished  swimmer,  and  might  quickly  have 
crossed  the  pond,  but  that  natation  was  impeded  by  a  hand 
holding  his  coat-tail.  As  he  struck  boldly  out,  Aaron  gently 
pulled  him  back.  Then,  slipping  off  his  coat,  he  left  it  in 
the  constable's  hands,  and  made  a  headlong  plunge.  But  it 
was  diving  under  difficulties  :  for  now  Abner  had  him  by  the 
legs ;  and  now  Aaron  had  him  by  the  nape  of  the  neck  ;  and 
now  Elphaz  whipped  out  of  his  pocket  a  cord  to  bind  him. 
After  a  brief  struggle,  the  valiant  youth  was  conquered, 
and  inarched  into  the  village  with  his  hands  tied  behind  him, 
swearing,  and  very  wet. 

After  a  night  passed  in  a  strong  room  of  the  town-house, 


296       JUSTICE    PELT    AND     THE    PRISONER. 

the  prisoner  was  brought  before  Squire  Pelt.  The  lawyer's 
office  —  styled  a  court-room  on  such  occasions  —  was  thronged 
by  spectators ;  every  loafer  in  the  village  pressing  in  to  see 
the  sport.  In  the  midst  of  the  coarse-featured  group  ap 
peared  the  Iktle  doctor,  trembling  not  only  for  his  son's 
safety,  perhaps,  but  also,  it  may  be,  thinking  of  himself  stand 
ing  there  a  prisoner,  in  more  terrible  peril. 

The  original  charges  against  Mad,  of  cmelty  to  his  father, 
arid  of  threatening  with  violence  those  who  interfered  to  pro 
tect  the  old  man's  life,  were  duly  sworn  to  by  Abner,  and 
corroborated  by  Job  and  the  reluctant  doctor  himself.  To 
these  were  now  added  the  more  serious  one  of  forcibly  resist 
ing  an  officer  of  the  law.  The  old  man  could  only  groan, 
and  shake  his  head,  at  the  incontrovertible  evidence.  But 
the  pettifogger  who  managed  the  defence  whispered  to  him 
to  be  of  good  cheer :  he  had  found  a  flaw  in  the  warrant, 
which  would  quash  the  proceedings. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  —  a  lantern-jawed  individual,  with  rab 
bit's  eyes  and  cunning-looking  teeth,  —  and  demanded  in  a 
shrill  voice,  — • 

"Who  is  Eliphaz  Pelt?"  He  glanced  round  the  room, 
and,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  justice;  repeated  energetically, 
"WhoisEl-i-phazPelt?" 

"  It  is  the  court  whose  name  you  are  handling;  and  I  ad 
vise  you,  Mr.  Jinket,  to  mind  what  you  are  about,"  said  the 
justice. 

"  I  think  it  can  Be  shown,  sir,  that  it  is  not  your  name,  — 


JUSTICE    PELT   AND    THE    PRISONEE.       297 

with  all  due  respect  to  the  court,"  replied  Jinket.  "  It  can 
be  shown  that  you  have  heretofore  written  your  name  Elphaz; 
that  it  is  painted  on  the  shingle  at  the  door,  Elphaz  ;  that  you 
are  everywhere  known  as  Elphaz :  whereas  this  instrument 
is  signed  by  EKphaz  Pelt,  and  is  consequently  an  illegal 
document.  I  therefore  demand  my  client's  immediate  dis 
charge  ;  and  hereby  give  notice  of  intention  to  institute  im 
mediate  proceedings  for  the  prosecution  of  parties  for  the  false 
imprisonment  of — my  client,"  said  Jinket,  sitting  down 
amid  a  general  rustle  of  excitement  caused  by  this  eloquent 
speech. 

All  eyes  turned  on  Pelt,  who  was  fiery^red.  The  truth  is, 
that  the  learned  lawyer  came  from  a  low  and  ignorant  family, 
and  had  grown  up  in  the  belief  that  his  name  was  Elphaz ; 
nor  had  he  until  recently  stumbled  on  the  name  Eliphaz  in 
Holy  Writ,  and  adopted  the  biblical  orthography.  Hence  his 
sensitiveness. 

"  I  am  not  responsible  for  the  blunder  of  a  sign-painter," 
he  answered,  "  nor  for  the  stupidity  of  those  that  can't  read 
writing.  My  name  is  Eliphaz  in  my  commission ;  it  was  Eli 
phaz  on  the  ticket  that  elected  me  to  this  office ;  and  I 
guess  "  — riddling  Jinket  with  sharp  glances  —  "  that  settles 
the  matter." 

The  pettifogger  was  silenced.  Biddikin  uttered  a  groan 
of  despair.  And  now  Mad,  who  up  to  this  time  had  taken 
his  friends'  advice  and  held  his  peace,  expressing  his  hatred 


298       JUSTICE    PELT    AtfD     THE    PRISONER. 

of  Pelt  merely  by  the  murderous  glare  of  his  eyes  and  the 
menacing  one-sided  protrusion  of  his  chin,  broke  silence. 

"  Who  cares  whether  it's  El-  or  El-fte-phaz  ?  He'll  lie  fast 
enough,  any  way  !  " 

"  'Sh  !  'eh  k"  whispered  the  frightened  doctor.  But  the 
laughter  of  the  bystanders  encomagpd  the  youth's  malevolent 
wit. 

"  The  difference  is  all  in  his  if  You  see,  his  father  and 
mother  never  was  very  partic'lar  'bout  the  eyes  in  their  fam 
ily  !"  Which  direct  allusion  to  Pelt's  obliquity  of  vision 
filled  the  room  with  an  uproar  of  mirth. 

"  Constable,  keep  order  !  "  shouted  the  justice  angrily. 
"  The  prisoner  is  fined  nine  shillings  for  contempt  of  court." 

"  Fine  away,  you  little  finger  of  Satan  !  "  roared  Mad, 
clinching  his  fist.  "  My  opinion  of  you  has  always  been  that 
of  a  darned  rascal." 

As  the  prisoner  lost  his  temper,  the  justice  -regained  his. 
And  now  the  slight  grammatical  confusion  which  marred  the 
beauty  of  this  last  speech  afforded  an  opportunity  to  make  a 
neat  retort. 

"  Nobody  doubts,  sir,  but  all  your  opinions  may  be  those 
of  a  profane  rascal ;  but,  for  the  contemptuous  expression  of 
them  to  this  court,  you  are  hereby  fined  five  dollars  in  addi 
tion  to  your  previous  fine.  And,  owing  to  the  aggravated 
circumstances  of  the  case,  I  do  not  feel  authorized  to  decide 
in  the  matter  myself  by  letting  you  off  with  a  light  punish- 


JUSTICE    PELT    AND     THE    PRISONER.       299 

ment,  as  I  could  have  wished;  but  I  am  compelled,"  the 
magistrate  continued  with  affected,  ironical  kindness,  "  reluc 
tantly  compelled,  to  bind  you  over." 

The  prisoner  was  accordingly  held  to  answer  the  charges 
against  him  before  a  higher  tribunal.  After  some  discussion, 
his  bail  was  fixed  at  three  hundred  dollars ;  in  default  of 
which,  he  was  committed  to  the  county  jail.  Then  all  the 
evil  fire  in  him  blazed  up.  He  declared  with  an  oath  that 
he  would  make  Pelt  look  six  ways  for  Sunday  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  at  his  eyes,  and  attempted  to  execute  his  menace  on 
the  spot :  an  act  of  violence  which  had  no  other  effect  than 
to  tighten  Aaron's  hold  on  him,  and  to  raise  his  bonds  from 
three  hundred  dollars  to  six  hundred.  As  responsible  recog 
nizances  to  that  amount  could  not  be  easily  obtained,  —  Doc 
tor  Biddikin's  offer  to  bail  his  son  being  rejected  amid  gen 
eral  laughter,  —  nothing  was  left  but  for  Madison  to  go  to 
jail. 

"Hurrah  for  jail,  then!"  he  cried  recklessly;  "  but 
take  care  !  "  still  threatening  the  magistrate  with  eye  and  fist 
and  tongue  as  he  was  hurried  away  by  the  constable. 

"  It  is  manifest  malice  and  injustice  !  "  exclaimed  the  doc 
tor,  "  that  I,  worth  probably  the  largest  fortune  in  the  State, 
should  be  refused  the  privilege  of  bailing  my  son !  Don't 
you  think  so,  Mr.  Jinket?  " 

Jinket  showed  his  teeth  with  a  grimace  and  nod,  signifi 
cant  of  mysterious  resources  of  legal  knowledge,  but  did  not 
commit  himself  in  words. 


300       JUSTICE    PELT    AND     THE    PRISONER. 

And  now  the  doctor  might  have  been  seen  parting  with  his 
son,  embracing  him  with  tears,  and  appealing  pathetically  to 
the  crowd  for  bail,  until  the  wagon  came  which  was  to  convey 
the  prisoner  to  his  new  lodgings  in  the  stone  edifice  with  iron- 
barred  windows,  nine  long  miles  from  his  father's  house. 


ON     THE     CRAGS.  301 


XXVI. 

ON  THE   CRAGS. 

HE  news  that  Christina  had  overcome  the  doc 
tor's  obstinacy,  and  brought  him  to  terms,  was 
now  rallying  those  who  were  interested  in  revela 
tions  concerning  the  buried  treasure.  His  house  was  thronged 
by  influential  spiritualists,  anxious  to  commence  mining  opera 
tions.  Plans  were  discussed,  and  lectures  on  the  subject  were 
delivered  by  Franklin,  Bonaparte,  and  other  illustrious  invisi 
bles,  through  the  lips  of  persons  still  in  the  flesh. 

From  all  this,  however,  Guy  kept  aloof,  notwithstanding 
that  he  was  officially  notified  of  the  organization  of  a  society, 
called  the  "  Order  of  Mount  Ararat,"  of  which  he  was  chosen 
chief.  He  smiled  at  the  doubtful  honor  conferred  upon  him, 
which  he  neither  accepted  nor  declined.  He  waited  for  some 
decisive  summons  to  action.  And  one  day  the  summons 
came.  It  was  from  Christina. 

A  morning  of  unusual  splendor  dawned.  It  was  now  Octo 
ber,  and  the  world  was  glorious  in  its  autumnal  dress.  The 
mountains  gleamed  in  gold  and  purple.  The  heaped  and 


302  ON     THE     CRAGS. 

massy  foliage  of  the  forests  on  their  slopes  kindled  into  bil 
lows  of  fire.  Wherever  a  sumach  grew  by  a  wall,  a  flaming  • 
bush  appeared.  The  russet  boughs  of  the  great  oak,  the  mag 
nificent  yellow  elm,  the  brilliant  burning  foliage  of  the  soft 
maple,  the  rich  orange  tints  of  the  sugar-maple,  the  gaudy 
scarlet  and  crimson  plumes  of  woody  cliffs  mirrored  in  waters 
that  slept  like  molten  glass  beneath  them,  — all  these  varie 
ties  of  color  glowed  in  the  haze  of  the  valley,  and  robed  in 
more  than  Oriental  pomp  the  farms,  the  roadsides,  and  the 
shores  of  ponds. 

Up  through  the  gorge  of  the  cascades  Guy  went  with  his 
favorite  hound.  Above  him  hung  the  gorgeous  awnings,  whoso 
majestic  supporters  were  the  numberless  columns  of  tho  trees. 
Autumn  had  encamped  with  all  her  hosts  among  the  moun 
tains  and  valleys ;  but  here  it  seemed  the  queen  herself  had 
pitched  her  tent  over  the  musical  and  shining  waterfalls. 
Under  the  luxurious  fluttering  drapery,  among  the  tall  and 
silent  pillars,  in  the  soft  smoky  light  that  filtered  through  the 
festooned  and  many-tinted  canopy  from  the  golden  urn  of  the 
morning,  the  young  man  walked  and  mused. 

On  the  brink  of  the  misty  cavern  where  his  feet  had  been 
washed  by  the  hands  of  the  seeress,  and  wiped  with  the  hairs 
of  her  head ;  at  the  grave  of  Martin,  where  he  had  witnessed 
BO  impressive  a  manifestation  of  her  mediuraship,  —  he  re 
called  all  the  circumstances  of  that  memorable  afternoon ;  felt 
once  more  the  presence  of  spiritual  powers  overshadowing  him, 
and  prayed  to  them  for  guidance  in  the  hour  which  was  now 
at  hand. 


O^     THE     CRAGS.  303 

He  had  observed  that  Ranger  picked  up  something  near 
the  roots  of  a  tree  that  overhung  the  cavern ;  but  he  had 
been  too  much  absorbed  by  other  thoughts  to  give  heed  to  the 
occurrence.  The  dog  still  carried  the  thing  in  his  mouth ; 
and  now  he  came  and  dropped  it  on  Martin's  grave.  Guy 
took  it  up  :  it  was  a  lady's  glove.  "  It  must  be  Christina's," 
he  thought ;  and,  putting  it  into  his  pocket,  he  commenced  the 
ascent  of  the  mountain. 

He  soon  struck  a  well-known  path,  a  sort  of  rude  stairway 
worn  in  the  steep  side,  among  the  roots  and  rocks.  It  wound 
upwards  through  a  dense  growth  of  hemlocks  and  birches, 
which  became  shorter  and  thinner  as  he  proceeded ;  until,  at 
the  end  of  a  half-hour's  toilsome  climbing,  only  a  few  scattered 
poplars  and  stunted  pines  remained,  and  he  found  himself  on 
the  bald  and  battered  skull  of  the  mountain. 

He  looked  around.  Wonderful  at  any  time  was  the  view 
from  the  summit,  but  surpassingly  wonderful  that  calm  Octo 
ber  day.  Range  beyond  range  of  mountains  was  visible  on 
every  side,  as  if  the  world  were  one  tumultuous  ocean,  in  the 
midst  of  which,  like  an  island  in  the  blue  main,  swelled  the 
mountain  on  which  he  stood,  with  all  its  shaggy  forests  and 
wild  rocks. 

The  valley  could  not  be  seen  from  his  position ;  and,  to 
obtain  a  view  of  it,  he  clambered  over  the  ledges  towards  the 
cliff  which  fronted  the  village.  As  he  advanced,  he  saw  stand 
ing  on  a  solitary  crag  a  female  figure.  A  narrow  and  peril 
ous  ridge  led  to  that  lonely  peak.  On  each  side  were  chasms 


304  ON     THE     CRAGS. 

a  hundred  feet  steep  down.  Ranger  ran  on  before  ;  and,  fear 
ing  lest  a  touch  or  a  sudden  start  should  cause  the  woman  to 
lose  her  balance  and  footing,  he  shouted  to  call  him  back. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  she  turned  and  beckoned. 
"  Come  !  "  rang  her  silver  tones  across  the  chasms.  "  There 
is  room  for  two." 

"  But  not  for  three.     Go  back,  Ranger !  " 

Guy  groped  his  way  over  the  sharp  edge  of  the  crag,  quick 
ly,  but  cautiously ;  climbed  the  jagged  mass  beyond,  and 
gained  a  footing  by  her  side. 

"  Who  else  but  you,  Christina,  would  have  been  perched 
up  here  alone?" 

"  Isn't  it  grand !  "  she  said  with  a  rapt  smile.  "  One  feels 
as  the  eagle  feels,  — 

1  Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ringed  with  the  azure  world !  * 

What  a  solemn  thing  it  would  be  to  take  one  step  forward ! 
Look!" 

She  advanced  her  foot.     He  clasped  her  arm  with  a  cry. 

The  precipice  over  which  jutted  the  crag  was  broken  into 
fangs  and  tusks  immediately  beneath  them,  on  which  a  falling 
body  would  have  first  been  dashed,  and  then  tossed  sheer 
from  the  cKfF,  down  an  almost  perpendicular  slant  of  moun 
tain  wall ;  a  distance  so  great,  that  the  cataracts  of  stones,  the 
stupendous  pyramidal  ruins  which  deluged  its  lower  side, 
viewed  from  that  height,  appeared  one  crushed  and  crumbled 
mass  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 


O^     THE     CRAGS.  305 

"  A  step,"  — she  smiled  seriously,  —  "it  would  take  one 
very,  very  far  !  " 

"  It  would  shoot  your  body  clown  among  the  blocks  of  the 
ice-caves  where  we  hunted  the  bear ;  and  it  would  whirl 
your  soul  into  infinity.  One  step !  "  repeated  Guy.  "  And 
who  knows,  Christina,  but  that  which  we  are  about  to  take  is 
just  as  momentous,  and  that  we  shall  soon  find  ourselves  fly- 
kig  over  invisible  precipices  ?  The  soul  hath  perils  as  the 
body  hath." 

"  Don't  I  know  it  ?  Didn't  I  once  put,  as  I  thought,  my 
best  foot  forward,  to  tread  on  solid  happiness  ?  walking  blind 
ly,  headlong,  from  one  of  those  dreadful  crags  of  life,  —  into 
awful  vacancy  a  moment,"  —  Christina  shuddered ;  "  then, 
crash  !  I  was  shivered  like  an  egg." 

"  You  fell  —  in  love  ?  "  said  Guy. 

"I  was  —  married!"  said  Christina  with  a  spasm  of 
pain. 

"  You  !  —  married !  But  you  never  told  me  !  Who  was 
the  happy  man  ?  " 

"  Happy?  Do  you  think  I  could  make  a  man  happy?  " 
she  asked  bitterly. 

"  Intensely  happy,  or  intensely  miserable.  You  have  a 
fearful  gift !  "  said  Guy. 

She  smiled  upon  him  strangely.  "  You  shall  know,  some 
day." 

"  Who,  then,  is  your  friend,  the  tall  gentleman  ?  Not  your 
husband?" 

20 


306  ON     THE     CRAGS. 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Christina.  "  Who  he  is  you  shall 
know  soon.  He  will  open  that  mysteriously  silent  mouth  of 
his  to-day.  Well,  how  have  you  been?"  And,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  she  continued ;  "  I  was  ill  after  I  saw 
you.  That  night  with  Doctor  Biddikin  was  too  much  for 
me." 

"  That's  what  I  am  anxious  to  hear  about.  You  broke  his 
shell?" 

"  Yes  ;  though  I'm  afraid  it  wasn't  of  much  use.  I  had 
to  pour  out  my  life  to  float  the  wreck  of  his  heart,  and  get  it 
off  the  terrible  sand-bars ;  but  it  sinks  again  the  moment  I 
withdraw  my  sympathy." 

She  told  her  story.  "  One  thing  is  gained,  though,  — the 
treasure." 

"  When  we  get  it,"  said  Guy  with  a  troubled  smile. 

"  I  have  seen  it  just  as  distinctly  as  I  saw  Martin  in  his 
grave ;  and  it  can  just  as  easily  be  found,  —  if  we  have 
faith." 

"  I  should  be  the  last  man  to  lack  faith,  after  what  I  have 
seen.  I  have  come  to-day  to  do  the  bidding  of  the  powers 
that  are  so  much  greater  and  wiser  than  we.  Yet  I  have 
misgivings." 

"  Of  what  ?  That  we  shall  fail?  Then  it  will  be  failure 
in  a  noble  cause.  That's  better  than  success  in  a  mean  one. 
And  the  experience  —  I  am  greedy  of  experience!"  she 
cried,  with  a  wild  fascination  in  her  face.  "  To  live,  to  act, 
to  feel,  to  burn  with  life,  and  not  to  be  a  vegetable,  Guy 
Bannington !  " 


ON     THE     CRAGS.  307 

He  caught  her  enthusiasm ;  and  for  some  minutes  they 
stood  together,  rapt  and  silent,  regarding  the  sky,  the  crags, 
and  the  magically  colored  picture  of  the  valley  outspread  be 
fore  them,  with  its  villages,  forests,  farms,  and  golden  slopes. 

"  What,"  then  said  Christina,  "  is  the  meaning  of  Satan's 
taking  Jesus  up  into  a  high  mountain,  and  showing  him  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  At  this  moment  I  was  thinking  of  it !  "  exclaimed  Guy. 
"  Satan  is  the  spirit  of  selfishness,  which  whispered  its  evil 
suggestion  even  to  the  Son  of  man.  From  the  height  of  his 
divine  power,  he  saw  what  earthly  dominions  might  be  gained 
by  using  that  power  for  earthly  ends." 

"Are  ydu  and  I  proof  against  such  temptation?"  asked 
Christina. 

Her  altered  voice  surprised  him.  Her  countenance  was 
not  less  changed.  He  was  about  to  speak ;  when,  with  one 
of  her  impressive  sibylline  gestures,  she  motioned  him  to 
retreat.  He  clambered  back  over  the  rocks.  She  followed, 
stepping  lightly  and  swiftly  between  the  chasms  like  a  som- 
nambule,  or  a  creature  with  wings.  He  watched  her  breath 
lessly  until  she  reached  his  side. 

"Go,"  she  then  said.  "The  company  will  be  waiting. 
I  have  work  to  do,  Give  me  your  knife." 

She  wandered  along  the  verge  of  the  cliff  until  she  came 
to  some  bushes  that  grew  in  the  fissures.  There  she  knelt. 
He  left  her,  and,  returning  towards  the  summit  of  the  moun 
tain,  soon  reached  the  scene  of  Doctor  Biddikin's  money- 
digging. 


308  ON     THE     CRAGS. 

A  shaft  forty  feet  in  depth  had  been  sunk  in  the  solid 
rock.  It  was  now  a  cistern.  A  pool  of  black  water  filled  the 
Plutonic  hole.  Fragments  of  the  old  scaffolding  floated  on 
the  shining  surface.  A  portable  pump  had  its  nose  in  the 
seemingly  bottomless  pit.  Around  was  the  heaped  litter  of 
the  excavations;  and,  not  far  off,  a  ruined  hut.  "A  few 
dwaifed  spruces,  quaintly  overgrown  with  lichens,  struggled 
here  and  there  for  life  in  the  craggy  soil.  All  was  silence 
and  desolation.  Not  an  insect,  not  a  bird  :  only  the  moun 
tain-wind  blew  over  the  dreary  rocks. 

Sheltered  by  a  bank  of  splintered  and  pulverized  stones, 
Guy  sat  musing  as  he  gazed  at  the  unfathomable  blackness  of 
the  cavity.  He  saw  the  wretched  ghosts  of  hopes  drowned 
therein,  —  the  old,  saddening  story  of  delusion  and  despair 
rehearsed  before  his  eyes  in  that  Stygian  mirror,  —  and  some 
what  bitterly  smiled  as  he  thought  of  himself  resuming  a  for 
lorn  enterprise  which  had  brought  only  ruin  and  ridicule  to 
all  who  had  engaged  in  it. 

He  gazed  until  the  snaky  eye  of  the  pool  seemed  to  glitter 
back  at  him  with  an  infernal  sort  of  fascination.  He  rose, 
and  cast  a  stone  at  it.  A  sullen  wink,  as  the  plashing  mis 
sile  sunk  ;  and  the  Cimmerian  eye  twinkled  and  leered,  and 
settled  again  into  its  sinister,  snaky  stare. 

Just  then,  Ranger  barked ;  and,  looking  round,  Guy  saw 
looming  up  over  the  heap  of  excavations  a  stalwart  nose,  —  the 
facial  forerunner  of  Mr.  Murk,  the  philanthropist.  It  was 
accompanied  by  the  moony  countenance  and  shaved  forehead 


ON     THE     CRAGS.  309 

of  Miss  Lingham,  and  by  the  plump  round  features  of  a 
black-haired  woman  of  very  singular  appearance,  —  short, 
swarthy,  adipose,  astonishingly  furbelowed,  and  barbarously 
jewelled. 

"You  know  this  sister,  brother,"  said  Mr.  Murk.  The 
moony  countenance  smiled.  "This  other  is  also  a  well-be 
loved  sister,  —  Mrs.  John  Smith,  wife  of  Ex-Governor  Smith." 

"  Pocahontas,"  thought  Guy;  almost  fancying  that  some 
Indian  princess  stood  before  him. 

"  And  this,  sister,"  —  wagging  the  Swedenborgian  arm  at 
Guy,  —  "is  our  chief." 

Pocahontas  penetrated  the  young  man  with  her  keen  black 
eyes,  and  said  impressively  that  she  could  have  picked  him 
out  of  ten  thousand,  as  Joan  of  Arc,  from  among  many,  singled 
out  her  king. 

Guy,  who  was  fast  growing  to  think  that  there  was  some 
thing  remarkable  about  him,  and  to  receive  with  gravity  hom 
age  which  would  lately  have  excited  his  derision,  answered, 
with  becoming  graciousness,  that  he  was  madam's  very  hum 
ble  servant. 

"  He  who  would  be  greatest  among  us  must  be  our  servant," 
observed  the  philanthropist.  ' '  Do  you  see  the  beautiful  sig 
nificance,  Sister  Lingham  ?  Ah  !  Sister  Smith  is  under  im 
pression  !  She  is  a  very  powerful  trance-medium,  brother  !  " 

After  a  few  nervous  starts,  the  ex-governor's  lady  mounted 
the  mound  of  stones  and  baked  mud,  and  commenced  an 
address.  Her  singular  costume,  her  emphatic  gestures,  the 


310  ON     THE     CRAGS. 

rolling  of  her  rotund  bead  and  shoulders  as  she  spoke,  set  the 
risible  muscles  to  quivering  under  Guy's  waistcoat.  Her 
oratory  was  also  of  a  style  to  titillate  the  diaphragm ;  resem 
bling  much  her  personal  appearance  in  plumpness,  swing,  and 
emphasis. 

But,  though  amused,  Guy  was  forced  to  admire.  By  dis 
daining  all  artificial  elegance  of  diction,  and  relying  upon  the 
coarse  vernacular,  which  she  shaped  like  sand  into  rude 
moulds  for  the  flaming  ore  of  her  thought,  she  turned  out 
wonderful  sentences  ;  as  round  and  solid,  and  full  of  vitality, 
as  herself.  She  pictured  the  condition  of  society,  the  misery, 
the  vice,  the  disease ;  the  few  fattening  in  idleness,  the  many 
toiling  and  starving ;  the  dishonesty  of  trade,  which  deals  in 
deceptive  fabrics  and  poisoned  food ;  avarice  and  passion,  not 
love  and  justice,  ruling  the  actions  of  men  and  of  nations ; 
the  tears  and  aching  hearts  of  the  comfortless ;  the  dead 
churches  and  fossil  religions ;  no  practical  Christianity  any 
where  ;  proclaiming  that  already  these  corrupt  elements  were 
beginning  to  dissolve,  and  to  crystallize  again,  in  new  and 
beautiful  forms,  about  the  doctrines  of  spiritualism.  She 
ended  by  affirming  that  the  light  which  was  to  illumine  the 
world  had  its  focus  on  this  mountain,  and  that  the  high  priest 
of  that  light  was  this  day  to  be  ordained. 


THE     CONSECRATION.  811 


xxvn. 

THE  CONSECRATION. 

USING  this  discourse,  a  goodly  company  bad 
assembled,  —  friends  and  strangers,  old  men, 
young  men,  women  ;  a  motley  gathering  of  twenty 
or  thirty  persons.  There  glittered  the  intense  eyes  of  the 
long-haired,  long-bearded  zealot ;  there  fluttered  the  Bloomer 
dress  of  the  strong-minded  woman  ;  there  flapped  the  broad 
hat-brim  of  the  ruddy-faced  young  travelling  lecturer ;  there 
glowed  the  broad,  red,  unctuous  features  of  good  Deacon  Pit 
man  ;  there  Doctor  Biddikin  smirked  ;  there  Archy  Brandle 
jerked ;  and  there  shone  the  bland  features  of  Christina's 
silent  friend. 

Mr.  Murk  now  mounted  the  embankment,  and  proposed  to 
give  a  brief  history  of  the  treasure. 

The  first  settlers  in  this  region  found  a  company  of  Span 
iards  in  possession  of  the  mountain.  Until  within  a  few  years, 
old  men  had  been  living  who  remembered  the  foreign  adven 
turers.  They  had  some  huts,  and  a  cave  in  the  mountain 
side.  There  they  carried  on  some  mysterious  business,  which 


312  THE     CONSECRATION. 

excited  a  thousand  vague  conjectures  among  the  settlers. 
Nothing  definite  was  known  of  it,  however,  for  a  year  or  two ; 
when  one  of  the  strangers,  who  could  speak  a  little  English, 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  wood-chopper,  who  had  been  a 
sailor,  and  could  speak  a  little  Spanish. 

"The  wood-chopper's  name -were  Mather,"  interpolated 
Doctor  Biddikin.  "  He  were  the  grandfather  of  Deacon  Pit 
man." 

Murk  proceeded.  Through  the  medium  of  the  two  lan 
guages,  the  two  communicated ;  and  the  Spaniard  related  that 
his  friends  were  working  a  silver-mine  up  into  the  mountain 
from  the  western  side.  One  evening  he  took  Mather  to  visit  it, 
and  showed  him  by  torch-light,  far  up  in  the  rocks,  a  chamber 
completely  filled  with  shining  coin,  of  which  he  gave  him  a 
handful. 

At  this  time,  dissensions  and  feuds  were  raging  among  the 
miners ;  and  it  was  probably  on  account  of  them  that  the 
friendly  Spaniard  had  wished  to  take  Mather  into  his  confi 
dence.  Not  long  after,  a  terrible  fight  occurred,  which  broke 
up  the  company.  Some  were  killed,  and  others  were  driven 
away;  until,  out  of  twenty,  only  three  remained.  One  of  these 
was  Mather's  friend,  who  related  to  him  that  they  were  going 
to  Spain  to  procure  assistance,  and  that  they  had  blocked  up 
the  mouth  of  the  mine  with  rocks.  At  their  departure,  Ma 
ther  was  left  to  keep  a  watchful  eye  over  the  treasure,  with 
the  promise  of  a  rich  reward  on  their  return.  But  they  never 
returned ;  some  disaster  probably  occurring  to  them  on  their 
voyage. 


THE     CONSECRATION.  813 

After  waiting  several  years,  the  wood-chopper  related  what 
he  knew  to  his  neighbors.  But,  by  this  time,  portions  of  the 
cliff  had  fallen,  and  concealed  the  entrance  of  the  cave 

,  • 

altogether,  —  "it  being  necessary,"  Mr.  Murk  continued, 
"  that  all  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  tradition  should  be  de 
stroyed,  in  order  that  the  treasure  might  be  reserved  for  this 
great  work." 

Even  Mather's  testimony  on  the  subject  appears  not  to  have 
been  fully  credited.  He  had  spent  the  coins  the  Spaniard 
gave  him,  and  had  nothing  to  show  for  them  but  a  red  nose. 
He  was  fond  of  a  glass,  and  those  who  acquitted  him  of  telling 
a  wilful  falsehood  attributed  his  story  of  the  silver  chamber  to 
a  dream  of  intoxication. 

Deacon  Pitman's  mother  remembered  hearing,  when  she  was 
a  little  girl,  her  father,  the  old  wood-chopper,  talk  about 
treasures  in  the  mountain.  But,  even  with  the  tradition  in 
his  own  family,  the  deacon  had  never  put  faith  in  it,  until,  to 
his  astonishment,  he  received  a  communication  on  the  subject 
from  the  spirit  of  his  grandfather. 

Long  since,  however,  Doctor  Biddikin  had  come  over  the 
mountains  from  the  east,  had  heard  the  tradition,  had  become 
convinced  of  its  truth,  and  had  purchased  for  a  small  sum  that 
portion  of  the  mountain  which  was  considered  worthless  by 
those  who  were  ignorant  of  the  riches  it  contained.  After 
expending  a  good  deal  of  money  in  searching  for  the  entrance 
to  the  mine,  he  consulted  a  person  skilful  in  the  use  of  divining- 
rods  ;  and,  under  his  direction,  he  commenced  digging  on  this 
spot,  hoping  to  sink  a  shaft  straight  to  the  treasure. 


314  THE     CONSECRATION. 

"  But  failure  was  necessary,"  continued  Mr.  Murk.  "  And 
it  was  brought  about  rather  curiously,  as  was  recently  shown 
by  my  own  investigations  with  the  rods,  but  more  particularly 
by  our  illuminated  Sister  Christina.  Standing  on  this  bank, 
she  was  able  to  discern  the  treasure  directly  beneath  her  feet 
It  is  consequently  not  more  than  three  or  four  yards  from  the 
shaft,  which  appears  to  have  been  sunk  expressly  for  our 
advantage ;  for  you  observe  it  will  be  easy,  when  the  water 
is  removed,  to  descend  into  it,  and,  commencing  operations 
at  the  proper  depth,  open  a  door  directly  into  the  mine. 

"  For  some  time,"  he  continued,  "  the  brethren  have  been 
ready  to  contribute  material  aid  towards  this  movement.  Only 
Brother  Biddikin  has  stood  a  little  in  our  way,  as  it  was  no 
doubt  necessary  he  should ;  but,  now  that  all  things  are  ripe, 
our  inspired  Sister  Christina  has  been  employed  as  an  instru 
ment  to  induce  him  to  yield  his  claims,  in  consideration  of 
which  he  is  to  receive  from  the  brotherhood  a  provision  suffici 
ent  for  his  maintenance,  and  a  tenth  part  of  the  treasure.  I 
believe  this  is  the  correct  statement,  Brother  Biddikin." 

"I  —  I  have  consented,"  said  the  old  man,  strongly  agi 
tated.  "  I  have  worn  out  my  health  and  broken  my  heart 
in  the  work ;  and  now  —  I  —  it  seems  to  me  a.  hard  case ;  but 
I  give  up, — I  give  up  the  treasure." 

He  looked  around  for  Christina,  as  if  dependent  on  her  for 
support  in  that  trying  moment ;  but  she  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen  :  and,  struggling  with  his  emotions,  he  shrank  away,  an 
object  of  painful  interest  to  the  pitying  spectators. 


TEE     CONSECRATION.  315 

"  It  was  at  first  advised  by  our  spirit-guides,"  resumed  the 
philanthropist,  "  that  six  of  the  brethren  should  subscribe  a 
thousand  dollars  each.  But  this  plan  has  been  modified  at 
the  suggestion  of  the  brethren  themselves;  and  it  is  now 
settled  that  each  member  of  the  order  shall  stand  pledged  to 
render  such  assistance  in  the  work  as  may  be  required  of 
him, — time,  talents,  or  money,  according  to  his  circum 
stances  and  capabilities." 

He  then  read  a  declaration  of  the  character  and  designs  of 
the  association ;  to  which  were  appended  the  names  of  Moses 
Murk,  secretary ;  Cephas  Snow,  Amos  Pitman,  Ralph  Bid- 
dikin  (the  doctor),  Sabina  Smith  (the  governor's  lady), 
Robert  Green,  and  Augustus  Haddow,  directors;  besides 
several  private  members. 

Of  the  seven  officers,  all  except  the  doctor  and  the  phi 
lanthropist  were  persons  of  ample  pecuniary  resources,  which 
were  pledged  in  aid  of  the  movement.  A  treasurer  was  yet 
to  be  chosen ;  and  the  chief  who  had  been  appointed  by  the 
spirits  remained  to  be  inaugurated. 

"  I  now  beg  leave,"  said  Mr.  Murk,  "  to  introduce  to  the 
brothers  and  sisters  a  very  distinguished  brother,  -^  the  Hon. 
Cephas  Snow,  late  member  of  Congress." 

Guy  raised  his  eyebrows  in  mild  astonishment;  while  Chris 
tina's  tall  friend  smilingly  lifted  his  hat  from  his  high  white 
forehead,  and  atoned  for  his  long  silence  by  a  very  neat 
speech. 

He  told  an  interesting  story  of  his  conversion  to  spiritual- 


310  THE     CONSECRATION. 

ism.  He  related  experiences  of  public  and  private  life  which 
had  long  since  convinced  him  that  some  such  movement  as 
•was  now  organizing  was  required  to  regenerate  society.  H<3 
complimented  the  mountain  very  handsomely  :  here  they 
were  elevated  above  the  world  ;  here  they  commanded  a  mag 
nificent  outlook  upon  the  universe  ;  and  here,  he  felt  assured, 
the  earth  touched  heaven  with  a  kiss  of  peculiar  magnetic 
unity.  He  was  inclined  to  agree  with  his  friend  Mr.  Murk 
in  the  opinion,  that  this  mountain  was  one  of  the  spiritual  poles 
of  the  globe,  and  that  in  no  other  spot  could  invisible  intelli 
gences  communicate  so  directly  and  freely  with  men.  It  was, 
in  fact,  the  modern,  moral  Mt.  Ararat ;  and  here,  in  the  midst 
of  the  breaking-up  of  the  great  deeps  of  human  society  which 
had  been  prophesied,  the  ark  of  human  redemption  was  to 
rest. 

Enthusiastic  applause  followed  this  graceful  speech.  The 
rocks  were  echoing,  when  Archy  leaped  upon  the  mound. 

"  Hear  ye,  hear  ye  the  word  of  the  Lord  !  "  he  shouted. 
"Why  stand  ye  here  idle?"  And  he  proceeded  with  an 
energetic  exhortation  to  commence  at  once  the  great  work, 
speaking  with  a  fluency  and  force  which  surprised  all  who 
knew  him ;  until,  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  the  inspiration 
suddenly  left  him,  and  he  came  out  of  his  trance,  staring  ludi 
crously  a  moment ;  then  got  quickly  down  from  his  elevation, 
looking  excessively  ashamed. 

The  contrast  between  the  congressman's  polished  manner 
and  the  youth's  involuntary  outburst  caused  some  to  smile. 


THE     CONSECRATION.  317 

But  it  had  the  effect  of  making  every  one  feel  that  here  was 
no  distinction  of  persons ;  that  all  were  brothers  and  sisters, 
united  by  one  purpose  and  one  love.  And  now  an  old  man 
mounted  the  rocks. 

"Brother  Haddow,  one  of  the  directors,"  Mr.  Murk  ex 
plained. 

His  hair  was  thin  and  white.  His  beard  fell  like  shining 
wool  upon  his  breast.  An  expression  of  exceeding  benevo 
lence  illumined  his  beautiful  clear  eyes  and  almost  transpa 
rent  face.  The  tones  of  his  voice  were  tremulous  and  sweet 
with  love ;  and,  as  he  spoke,  benediction  from  the  heavens 
seemed  to  rain  upon  all  hearts. 

"  I  am  old,  my  children;  but  I  bless  God  that  I  have 
lived  to  see  this  day.  For  threescore  years  I  have  observed 
the  sorrows  and  sins  of  the  world,  and  mourned  for  them,  and 
pleaded  the  cause  of  my  Master,  and  called  to  my  brothers 
and  sisters  to  love  one  another.  But  only  a  few  have  heard 
me  ;  and  the  evil  in  the  world  seemed  so  great,  that  I  was 
beginning  to  despair,  when  this  new  light  dawned  wherein  we 
rejoice.  The  angels  of  heaven  have  come  to  our  aid.  The 
bonds  of  the  oppressed  shall  be  broken.  The  bitter  vials  of. 
strife  and  envy  shall  be  poured  out  no  more.  Wounds  shall 
heal.  Hard  hearts  shall  melt  like  wax.  My  children,  I 
know  that  this  is  to  be ;  for  the  spirits  of  the  just  have  pro 
claimed  it,  and  they  will  not  deceive. 

"  And  now,"  the  old  patriarch  continued,  "  who  will  join 
us  in  our  work  ?  Let  not  the  fickle  or  the  faithless  come 


318  THE     CONSECRATION. 

near.  Let  not  the  proud  come,  or  he  who  is  ashamed  to  own 
the  drunkard,  the  convict,  and  the  woman  lost  in  sin,  as  his 
brother  and  his  sister.  But  come,  all  ye  who  love.  Such 
only  are  worthy  to  use  the  treasure  which  is  stored  in  these 
rocks  for  humanity's  sake.  I  shall  not  be  with  you  long ;  but 
receive  the  counsel  of  one  who  has  learned  by  experience  how 
much  more  blessed  is  charity  than  selfishness.  Work  together 
in  harmony.  Forgive  one  another's  faults.  Be  faithful  to 
your  trust.  Amen." 

These  words,  uttered  with  singular  fervor  and  winning 
sweetness,  ran  like  fire  from  heart  to  heart.  And  now  the 
patriarch  descended  to  a  hollow  of  the  rocks  where  Guy  stood 
bowed  with  thought,  and  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him 
to  the  summit  of  the  mound. 

"  The  Holy  Spirit  has  descended  upon  us  !"  said  the  old 
man.  "  Son,  be  obedient !  " 

Guy  bared  his  head  to  the  October  sunlight.  The  moun 
tain-wind  played  in  his  hair.  With  a  deep  sigh,  and  a  rever 
ential  smile, he  glanced  upwards ;  then,  with  thrilling  earnest 
ness  and  solemnity  in  his  slow,  quivering  tones,  he  said,  — 

"  I  should  be  strangely  unreasonable,  I  should  be  strangely 
ungrateful,  if  I  were  not  obedient.  I  know  these  heavenly 
influences.  I  am  indebted  to  them  for  unspeakable  blessings. 
They  have  opened  depths  of  thought  and  joy  within  me  too 
sacred  to  name.  They  have  made  real  to  me  miracles,  im 
mortality,  and  the  fiery  Pentecost.  I  will  obey  them." 

He  ended,  his  features  still  flooded  with  the  sunlight,  and 


THE     CONSECRATION.  319 

•with  something  finer  than  the  sunlight,  —  reverence,  rapture, 
love  ;  and  all  who  looked  upon  him  could  see  written  in  his 
countenance  the  history  of  days  and  nights  of  struggle  between 
him  and  his  soul,  before  ever  he  could  stand  in  that  place; 
and  all  hearts  went  out  to  him. 

"Kneel,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man;  and  he  knelt  on 
the  stones.  A  book,  called  the  Book  of  the  Covenant,  was 
oponed  before  him.  A  pen  was  put  in  his  hand,  and  he 
wrote  his  name.  Then  around  him  was  formed  a  circle  of  all 
such  as  the  spirit  moved,  who  laid  their  hands  upon  him  as 
he  knelt  with  his  head  bowed  down  ;  and  the  old  man  pro 
nounced  the  words  of  the  consecration,  and  in  the  name  of 
the  Father,  and  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  proclaimed  him 
the  chief  of  the  order. 

Up  to  this  time,  Christina  had  not  been  seen  :  but  now  she 
glided  among  the  mediums ;  and,  after  the  hands  which  were 
upon  Guy  had  been  withdrawn,  —  while  ail  yet  stood  around, 
and  his  head  was  still  bowed,  —  she  stooped,  and  laid,  upon 
him  a  crown. 

There  was  a  movement,  a  murmur  of  amazement;  and 
Guy  rose  to  his  feet.  He  knew  not  what  she  had  done  to 
him  ;  but  he  saw  grief  and  alarm  in  the  faces  around  him, 
and  he  was  conscious  of  sharp  pains  piercing  his  temples. 
Then  he  put  up  his  hand,  and  knew  the  crown  of  thorns. 

"  This  from  you?  "  he  said  reproachfully,  turning  his  sor 
rowful  eyes  on  Christina. 


320  THE     COXSECnATION. 

"Oh,   not  from   me!"  she   answered.     "God  knows  I 
would  not !     And  have  I  not  suffered  ?  " 
And  she  showed  her  bleeding  hands. 
Then  the  old  man  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  prayed. 


ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER.  321 


XXVIII. 

ESTRANGEMENT:    WINTER. 

HAT  evening,  Lucy  sat  by  her  window,  pale  and 
changed.  The  wounds  at  which  her  spirit  bled 
had  left  her  body  weak.  Since  the  day  when  she 
went  alone  into  the  forest,  she  had  not  left  her  room.  Only 
from  her  window  could  she  see  the  glory  of  October.  And 
there  for  hours  she  sat  alone,  watching  the  woods  by  day;  and 
there  for  hours  she  sat  alone,  listening  to  the  brook  by  night. 

She  saw  little  of  Guy  now.  When,  after  the  evening  of 
their  cruel  parting  at  the  door,  he  came  again  with  a  yearning 
and  repentant  heart  to  atone  for  his  harshness  to  one  to  whom 
he  owed  all  tenderness,  he  found  her  ill;  but  she  smiled 
upon  him  faintly,  and  uttered  no  reproach,  and  forgave  him 
sweetly  when  he  adbused  himself. 

"Only  be  patient  with  me  now;  bear  with  rne  a  little 
while,"  she  whispered :  and  he  never  forgot  the  look  she  gave 
him,  —  the  sunlight  of  affection  quivering  on  the  fountain  of 
tears. 

She  had  never  been  more  lovely,  and  he  had  never  loved 

21 


322  ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER. 

her  more,  than  now.  He  longed  to  open  to  her  his  full  heart, 
and  win  from  her  the  cause  of  her  sorrow.  But  that  secret 
she  kept  carefully  locked  in  her  own  bosom  :  it  chilled  their 
intercourse,  and  repelled  him  from  her. 

That  evening  she  had  left  the  window,  and  taken  up  some 
sewing;  when  her  door  was  opened,  and  Guy  stood  in  the 
room.  She  did  not  spring  to  meet  him  as  in  other  days,  but 
smiled  a  silent  welcome.  He  looked  at  her  long,  without  speak 
ing.  His  countenance  was  unspeakably  tender.  Around  his 
brow  shone  something  like  a  halo.  All  the  lines  of  his  mouth 
seemed  tremulous  with  love.  After  his  recent  consecration 
and  sad  crowning,  there  he  stood,  reconciled  to  suffering  and 
shame,  if  suffering  and  shame  must  come ;  raised  sublimely 
above  pride  and  fear,  his  whole  being  breathing  love. 

After  welcoming  him,  Lucy  resumed  her  work,  on  which  she 
tried  to  fix  her  eyes  and  thoughts.  But  the  very  atmosphere 
of  him,  the  intangible,  invisible  something  which  his  spirit 
shed,  penetrated  her  with  a  melting  power.  It  stole  into  her 
bosom  like  flowers  and  perfumes,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
thought  that  he  loved  another  pierced  her  treacherously,  like 
the  muffled  spear  of  Bacchus  wounding  through  its  wreath  of 
leaves. 

He  came  and  stood  beside  her,  and  looked  at  her  work. 
It  was  an  infant's  dress,  which  she  was  daintily  embroider 
ing.  The  sight  of  it  moved  him  deeply :  for  hitherto  the 
image  of  their  child  had  been  to  him  altogether  vague  and 
ideal ;  but  the  little  garment  was  sternly  literal. 


ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER.  323 

"  Can  you  realize  it,  Lucy?  " 

"  It  was  a  good  while  before  I  could  make  it  seem  tbat 
these  dear  little  things  would  ever  be  worn  by  a  baby  of  ours ; 
and  half  the  time  now  I  am  working  in  a  dream." 

She  spoke  in  the  cheerful  tone  she  endeavored  always  to 
use  in  his  presence,  but  which,  in  spite  of  her,  betrayed  the 
underflowing  sadness. 

"  And  it  is  a  sorrow  to  you !  " 

"It  is  a  sorrow,"  —  she  answered  softly  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  —  "and  it  is  a  great  comfort.  I  kiss  the  dear 
things  for  its  sake  !  "  and  she  pressed  the  dress  impulsively 
to  her  lips. 

"  God  bless  the  babe  !  and  God  bless  with  rich  blessings 
its  mother  !  "  he  said  with  solemn  fervor.  "  I  do  believe 
that  a  happy  future  awaits  us.  Only  let  us  have  faith,  and 
be  strong." 

His  words  sank  deep  in  her  heart.  They  seemed  sincere  : 
surely  they  were  warm  with  affection.  She  was  waiting  for 
more ;  her  soul  was  hungering  for  more ;  when  something 
dropped  from  the  handkerchief  he  drew  from  his  coat.  He 
stooped  somewhat  hastily  to  pick  it  up. 

"  Is  it  a  keepsake  you  are  so  careful  of  ?  "  she  asked  with 
an  uncertain  smile. 

He  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  appearing  at  all  dis 
turbed  ;  and  he  answered  carelessly,  — 

"  It's  a  glove  I  found.     I  am  looking  for  the  owner." 

"  Don't  you  know  who  the  owner  of  it  is  ?"  she  inquired 
very  quietly,  but  with  a  look  full  of  meaning. 


324  ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER. 

"  Not  positively.  I  don't  know  but  it  may  be  yours,"  — 
tossing  it  into  her  lap. 

"  Mine  !  "  exclaimed  Lucy,  surprised.  "  Where  did  you 
find  it?" 

The  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  him.  He  parried  her  ques 
tion  with  another. 

"Is  it  yours?" 

Lucy  had  not  been  out  since  her  visit  to  the  cascades.  Then 
she  had  worn  that  glove.  She  had  not  missed  it,  not  having 
needed  it  since.  She  thought,  she  felt  certain,  that  she 
must  have  dropped  it  in  her  wild  and  dizzy  flight  from  tho 
brink  of  the  cavern ;  perhaps  within  a  few  yards  of  the  spot 
where  she  had  made  the  discovery  which  blighted  her  life. 
Then  her  secret  was  betrayed  !  Controlling  her  agitation  as 
well  as  she  could,  she  returned  the  glove,  saying  in  a  forced 
voice,  — 

"  I  hope  you'll  find  the  owner." 

11  Lucy  !  "  he  said,  clasping  her  wrist,  "  it  is  your  glove  !  " 

Her  heart  swelled  and  her  ctieek  blanched  ;  but  she  neither 
confessed  nor  denied.  He  held  her  still ;  he  made  her  look 
in  his  face  ;  he  demanded  earnestly,  — 

"  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  this?  " 

"Tell  you  — what?" 

"  That  you  went  to  the  cascades,  saw  me  there,  and  broke 
your  poor  foolish  heart." 

Concealment  was  at  an  end.  The  grief,  the  despair,  which 
she  had  stifled  long,  and  meant  to  keep  forever  hid  from  him, 
broke  forth. 


ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER.  325 

He  took  her  in  his  arms ;  he  endeavored  to  soothe  her ;  in 
vain.  He  placed  her  on  the  sofa,  and  walked  to  and  fro  in 
great  agitation.  Her  trance  in  the  woods,  her  unaccountably 
strange  conduct,  her  illness,  her  patient  suffering, — he  compre 
hended  all.  Nor  could  he  blame  her  now ;  nor  could  he  hope 
to  exculpate  himself ;  while  the  memory  of  her  wrongs  and 
resignation,  of  her  buried  sorrow,  and  of  the  tender  green  grass 
of  her  sweet  cheerfulness  growing  on  that  grave,  filled  him 
with  admiration  of  her  character,  together  with  a  wonderful, 
yearning,  pitying  love. 

But  now  she  had  recovered  once  more  the  control  of  her 
self;  and  stanching  her  tears,  and  pushing  back  her  hair  from 
her  brow  and  cheeks,  she  sat,  fixedly  regarding  him  as  he 
spoke. 

"  If  you  had  only  told  me  this,  all  would  have  been  well; 
all  might  have  been  explained." 

"  If  /  had  told  you  ?  "  she  cried.  "  But  what  if  you  had 
told  me  ?  If  /  concealed  something,  what  did  you  conceal  ? 
You  kept  from  me  your  perfidy  ;  while  I  kept  from  you  only 
my  knowledge  of  it !  " 

"  My  perfidy  !  "  murmured  Guy.  "  0  Lucy  !  "  But  he 
was  dumb  :  he  knew  he  could  not  make  her  understand. 

"  I  don't  accuse  you ;  and,  but  for  the  accident  of  that  glove, 
you  would  never  have  heard  a  word  on  the  subject  from  my 
lips.  But  now  I  will  speak,"  she  continued  with  energy  of 
soul.  "  You  have  kissed  that  woman  :  I  saw  you  kiss  each 
other.  I  thought  the  sight  would  kill  me  :  I  hoped  it  would. 


3*26  ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER. 

I  hoped,  I  prayed,  I  might  be  removed  out  of  the  way  of  your 
happiness." 

"  Merciful  Heaven  !  Lucy  !  "  in  a  voice  of  amazement  he 
interrupted  her.  ''Hear  me  a  moment.  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  overcome  your  prejudices  by  explaining  my  relations  with 
that  woman  :  I  shall  not  assert  and  re-assert  the  spiritual  na 
ture  of  those  relations.  But,  in  proof  of  my  fidelity,  let  me 
tell  you  what  was  in  my  heart  when  I  came  to-night." 

He  explained  :  she  listened,  gazing  at  him  with  intent  eyes, 
while  he  offered  that  which  it  would  seem  almost  insane  in  her 
now  not  to  accept.  But  her  woman's  nature  was  roused ;  and, 
when  he  had  ended,  she  answered  at  once,  — 

"  No  !  If  poverty  did  not  seem  sweet  to  you  for  my  sake, 
•when  you  loved  me,  it  would  be  too  bitter  now." 

"Oh,  you  will  not  believe  me  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  only 
regret  that  I  did  not,  in  the  first  place,  make  you  my  wife  be 
fore  the  world.  It  would  have  saved  you  so  much  !  —  and  it 
would  have  saved  me  the  shame  of  thinking  how  basely  I 
have  acted.  I  suppose  my  father  will  disinherit  me  now,  at 
any  rate :  I  deserve  it.  And  what  if  he  does  ?  What  is 
wealth?  God  will  take  care  of  us  if  we  will  be  his  children. 
Long  enough  I  have  skulked  and  deceived.  Now  I  perceive 
the  beauty  of  holiness,  the  greatness  of  faith,  the  glory  of  a 
life  of  love,  and  of  suffering  for  love's  sake." 

She  thought  that  she,  too,  had  suffered  for  love's  sake  ;  and 
hot  thoughts  swelled  up. 

"  You  pity  me,"  she  said  after  a  struggle.      "  So  you 


ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER.  327 

come  and  propose  what  you  do.  But  I  will  not  have  your 
pity  now  I  have  lost  your  love.  You  have  told  me  a  hun 
dred  times  that  there  is  no  true  marriage  without  the  perfect 
union  of  hearts.  Without  your  undivided  love,  no  outward 
recognition  of  me  as  your  wife  can  make  me  happy.  What 
is  the  world's  scorn  ?  I  have  felt  it ;  but  it  is  nothing  — • 
nothing  to  the  loss —  Guy,  Guy  !  go  from  me  !  "  she  cried, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  When  we  understand  each  other,  when  you  are  calm, 
when  you  have  accepted  my  offer,"  he  soothingly  said. 

"I  will  accept  it  on  one  condition."  And  she  regarded 
him  with  proud  eyes  flashing  through  her  tears. 

"  Name  it." 

"  That  you  see  that  woman  no  more ;  that  you  separate 
yourself  from  that  fanatical  company  altogether." 

"It  is  impossible,"  Guy  answered  with  a  sad  shake  of 
the  head  ;  ' '  for  I  have  this  day  bound  myself  to  them  more 
strongly  than  ever." 

She  sank  down  a  moment  under  this  blow. 

"  And  you  will  not  give  her  up  for  me?"  she  asked  at 
length  with  a  strangely  subdued  and  level  look  and  tone. 

"  I  cannot  pledge  myself  not  to  see  her;  but  "  — 

"  Enough  !  You  cannot  be  my  husband,  and  give  your 
love  and  kisses  to  another."  Her  voice  was  little  more  than 
a  whisper;  but  all  the  passion  of  her  soul  was  in  it.  "I  am 
not  your  doll,  your  slave :  I  am  your  equal.  I  am  worthy 
of  your  entire  love  and  confidence,  or  of  nothing.  Cling  to 


328  ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER. 

that  woman,  if  you  will.  When  you  find  yourself  duped  and 
ruined,  you  will  remember  me ;  you  will  think  of  the  heart 
that  loved  you  better  than  life.  Then  you  can  do  me  justice, 
or  you  can  do  my  memory  justice,  before  the  world.  You 
will  be  just  to  our  babe,  I  am  sure !  " 

The  pathos  of  this  last  appeal  overcame  him ;  indeed,  his 
very  soul  was  moved.  But  he  could  not  yield. 

Perhaps  she  had  assumed  her  high  and  firm  position  in  the 
hope  that  he  would  accede  to  it.  And  when  all  had  been 
said,  and  he  still  refused,  she  knew  that  all  was  over ;  she 
knew  that  the  long  dark  night  of  her  life  had  come. 

The  night  of  the  year  came  with  it.  The  sunset  of  the  year, 
which  is  October,  faded  fast.  November's  bleak  and  tem 
pestuous  twilight  set  in  ;  and  the  icy  and  pallid  winter  mid 
night  drew  on. 

A  dreary  period  of  lonesomeness  and  heart-ache  to  Lucy. 
After  hope  long  deferred,  she  had  given  up  her  father  as  dead. 
Long  since  her  friends  had  forgotten  her.  And  now  she  was 
deserted  even  by  him  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  all. 

Not  that  Guy  had  ceased  to  love  her ;  not  that  he  visited 
her  now  no  more.  But  the  open  rupture  to  which  their 
differences  came  at  last  could  not  be  healed.  High-spirited 
and  heroic,  she  could  suffer,  she  could  die ;  but  she  could  not 
beg  for  affection,  nor  accept  a  part  of  his  heart,  nor  enjoy  his 
coming  when  she  knew  that  he  had  been  with  Christina,  and 
would  return  to  her  again. 

Few  and  formal  his  visits  became.     His  interest  was  else- 


ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER.  329 

where.  Miners  were  on  the  mountain.  The  ruined  hut  had 
been  repaired;  the  old  shaft  had  been  re-opened;  and  Guy,  in 
his  executive  capacity,  had  made  acquaintance  with  that  hith 
erto  unprofitable  bore.  And  now  was  heard  the  sound  of 
sharpening  the  drills  at  the  forge,  and  once  more  the  moun 
tain  resounded  with  the  thunder  of  the  blast.  Among  all  the 
prominent  members  of  the  association  great  enthusiasm  pre 
vailed.  Money  was  abundant,  poured  in  as  priming  to  the 
pump  which  was  expected  soon  to  pour  out  again  inexhausti 
ble  golden  supplies.  Except  in  the  coldest  of  the  weather,  the 
work  of  the  miners  went  on  ;  penetrating  inch  by  inch, 
slowly  and  laboriously,  the  stubbornest  azoic  stone.  Daily  it 
was  anticipated  that  the  drills  would  strike  through,  or  that 
the  blasts  would  blow  through,  into  the  subterranean  cham 
bers  of  coin ;  during  which  time  the  Biddikin  mansion 
glowed  with  warmth,  and  flowed  with  plenty,  so  that  the 
doctor  grew  fat,  and  not  even  poor  little  Job  went  hungry. 

With  the  workmen  at  the  summit,  or  with  the  men  and 
women  of  the  association  who  filled  with  now  magnetic  life 
the  rooms  of  the  old  house,  Guy  spsnt  his  days  and  nights. 
Here,  in  the  half-spiritual  yet  intensely  human  elements  of 
a  nondescript  society,  he  found  something  which  his  soul 
craved.  He  was  much  with  Christina.  Whether  or  not  he 
loved  her,  she  was  fast  becoming  necessary  to  him.  When 
he  went  uncomforted  from  Lucy,  the  smiles,  the  radiance,  the 
spiritual  gifts,  of  the  seeress  were  his  consolation.  Thus  un 
consciously  Lucy  drove  him  to  her  rival.  And  she  was  for- 


330  ESTRANGEMENT:     WINTER. 

gotten ;  she  was  left  alone,  sewing,  with  what  sorrows  and 
what  solace  few  can  guess,  her  little  baby-things. 

She  was  not  weak.  She  did  not  utterly  despair.  To  Je- 
hiel  and  his  wife,  who  did  all  they  could  to  comfort  and 
encourage  her,  she  was  thankful ;  but  she  seemed  scarcely  to 
heed  or  to  need  them.  She  was  pre-occupied  with  her  own 
whirling  thoughts.  In  vain  for  her  the  wonderful  phenomena 
of  winter  were  disclosed.  When  the  vast  white  plains  were 
beautiful  to  behold  in  their  spotless  purity;  when  the  far 
hills  were  clad  in  creamy  mantles,  embroidered  with  brown 
woods,  and  softly  tinged  with  blue ;  when  the  brows  of  the 
cliffs  were  veiled  with  icicles  like  inverted  spears  ;  when  the 
rocky  hillsides  were  hidden  under  cataracts  of  ice,  fixed, 
noiseless,  and  solitary ;  when  the  woods  stood  white  and  still 
like  forests  of  frostwork;  and  when  the  wild  snow-storms 
came, — she  looked  out  listlessly,  with  vague  surprise,  and 
with  many  a  dull  pang  of  memory ;  then  turned  again  to  her 
work,  in  the  night  which  was  upon  her,  sewing,  with  much 
sorrow  and  small  solace,  her  little  baby-things. 

But  now  when  sorrow  was  deepest,  and  now  when  the 
night  was  darkest,  there  broke  a  sudden  light ;  not  the  glad 
morning  beam,  which  was  distant  still,  but  a  star  of  exceed 
ing  beauty  and  holiness,  dropping  from  heaven  its  tender  melt 
ing  fire  into  the  depths  of  the  young  mother's  soul.  It  was 
the  star  of  maternal  love. 


ARCHY  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.    331 


XXIX. 


ARCHY  MEETS  AN    OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 
AND  MAKES  A  NEW  ONE. 


HE  birds  were  singing  again  in  the  old  orchard ; 
and  Archy  Brandle  stood  by  the  work-bench  in 
his  little  shop,  thoughtfully  holding  a  cog-wheel, 
when  his  mother  looked  in. 

"Can't  you  make  it  go,  my  son?"  said  the  smiling 
widow. 

"  Can't  help  thinking  about  her  !  "  starting  from  his  revery. 
"Ain't  it  too  bad?" 

"  In  one  sense  'tis,  and  in  one  sense  it's  good  enough  for 
her.  If  she  had  only  married  you,  now  "  — 

"  Oh !  don't  mention  that,  ma ;  'tain't  no  use  !  "  And,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  the  genius  pretended  to  study  his  cog-wheel. 

The  widow,  who  had  never  forgiven  Lucy  for  rejecting  her 
son,  regarded  him  with  a  tender,  aggrieved  look. 

"  After  all,  it  was  a  narrer  escape  for  you,  Archy  !  She 
couldn't  a'  been  a  very  good  girl :  she  never  was  good  enough 
for  you.  I  must  say,  though,"  she  relentingly  added,  "I 
pity  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 


382    ARCHY  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 

"  I  wonder  if  the'  ain't  suthin'  I  can  make  for  her,"  said 
Archy.  "D'ye  'spose  she's  got  a  cradle  ?  " 

"  Mos'  likely,  by  this  time.  But  the  idee  "  —  Mrs.  Bran- 
die  smiled  discouragingly  —  "of  your  making  a  cradle  for 
her  baby !  " 

"  I  might  git  up  one  "  —  Archy  kindled  with  the  concep 
tion —  "to  go  by  clock-work;  warranted  to  rock  a  baby  to 
sleep  by  once  winding  up.  I've  a  good  notion  !  " 

"  That's  an  idee,  my  son.  But,  then,  you  wouldn't  like  to 
go  and  offer  her  a  cradle,  would  you,  now  !  What  would  she 
think?" 

"Of  course!"  said  the  genius,  blushing.  "I  only  jest 
mentioned  it.  I  wish  folks  would  stop  talking  about  her  so  : 
she's  better'n  half  of  'em,  anyway,  I  know.  But  I  did  think 
better  of  Guy  Bannington,  after  he  got  to  be  a  spiritualist." 

"  Wai,  it's  with  spirit'alists  as  'tis  with  other  denomina 
tions  :  they  ain't  all  on  'em  jest  what  they  should  be,  no 
more'n  other  folks.  There's  always  wolves  to  creep  into  a  fold 
that's  open  to  'cm ;  'specially  a  fold  that  hain't  got  its  walls 
built  up  yit.  But  come,  my  son,  I  want  you  to  go  of  an 
errant  to  the  village  now  :  we'll  talk  when  ye  come  back." 

"  Ye  in  a  hurry  ?  "  said  Archy.  "  For  I'd  like  to  wait  and 
have  a  hunk  of  that  gingerbread,  when  it's  done :  I'm  re'l 
kind  o'  faint." 

"  Why  'tain't  in  the  ov'm  yit ;  and  I  can't  make  it  up  till 
ye  fetch  some  molasses.  I  thought  there  was  a  plenty ;  but, 
come  to  tip  up  the  jug,  I  can't  git  enough  to  ketch  a  good 
smart  fly." 


AND    MAKES    A    NEW    ONE.  333 

Archy  rolled  clown  his  sleeves,  put  on  his  coat,  and,  taking 
the  jug  from  his  mother's  hand,  started  for  the  village. 

The  molasses  was  soon  got,  and  he  set  out  to  return.  It 
was  one  of  the  sweetest  clays  in  early  spring ;  a  summer-like 
warmth  swimming  and  glimmering  in  the  soft  air.  To  short 
en  the  distance,  he  crossed  the  fields,  carrying  the  jug.  Je- 
hiel's  house  was  in  sight ;  and  glancing  at  it  furtively,  thinking 
of  Lucy,  he  forgot  that  his  mother  and  the  gingerbread  were 
waiting.  An  indescribable  flood  of  feelings  rushed  over  him, 
which  seemed  somehow  blended  with  the  singing  of  the  robins. 
For  the  robins  return  not  alone  when  the  winter  is  past ; 
but  with  them  return  thoughts  of  other  days,  warm-breasted, 
winged  thoughts,  singing  of  the  loves  and  joys  and  losses 
with  which  the  scents  and  sounds  of  spring-time  are  forever 
associated. 

Already  the  infant  herbage  was  pushing  its  myriad  tiny 
fingers  through  the  dead  mother's  threadbare  vest.  It  ap 
peared  freshest  and  greenest  where  the  snow  had  just  melted 
away ;  like  the  lurking  hopes  which  put  forth  from  never-dying 
roots,  and  clothe  the  heart  with  blessings,  even  when  the  cold 
white  mask  of  the  winter  of  despair  is  upon  it.  A  compari 
son  which  Archy  might  have  perceived,  but  that  his  mind  was 
never  cunning  in  analogies,  and  that  now  he  had  something 
far  less  poetical  to  attend  to. 

A  flock  of  sheep  was  nibbling  here  and  there ;  when  out 
from  among  them  walked  one  of  their  number,  advanced  de 
liberately  a  few  paees  towards  him,  and  stopped.  Archy 


334     ARCHY  MEETS  AN   OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 

stopped  also,  with  trepidation;  glancing  around  him  for  a 
•weapon,  and  muttering,  — 

"  Oh,  mighty  !  it's  'Kiel's  pet  lamb  !  "  Once  a  favorite 
play-fellow,  now  an  enemy ;  with  which  he  had  had  many  a 
merry  tussle  before  he  (the  lamb)  had  got  horns,  and  he 
(Archy)  had  found  his  butting  dangerous. 

The  cosset  was  now  a  stout  ram ;  and  what  had  been  taught 
him  in  sport  he  was  inclined  to  practise  in  earnest.  Archy, 
who  had  fought  more  than  one  battle  with  him,  and  come  to 
grief,  stood  tremblingly  facing  him,  until  the  animal  stamped 
with  his  fore-foot,  showing  signs  of  rage ;  while  the  flock  stood 
looking  on  wonderingly,  like  ladies  at  a  tournament. 

Archy 's  heart  failed  him,  and  he  set  out  to  run ;  but  his 
legs  were  no  match  for  Billy's,  which  followed  swiftly.  Ac 
cordingly  he  halted,  and  placed  his  hope  in  dodging.  When 
within  a  few  yards  of  him,  the  cosset  paused  an  instant,  drew 
in  his  nose,  threw  down  his  horns  to  a  stiff  level  with  his  neck, 
then  darted  forward  like  a  forked  thunderbolt.  Instinctively, 
with  the  agility  which  terror  inspired,  the  genius  leaped  aside, 
and  the  thunderbolt  rushed  past  him,  butting  empty  space. 

"Help,  help!"  he  screamed,  appalled  by  the  tremendous 
strength  of  the  full-grown  animal,  "  Help  !  —  murder  !  " 

Billy  turned,  backed  off  a  few  steps,  and  came  again. 
This  time  he  grazed  the  legs  of  Archy,  who  seized  his  woolly 
tail  with  one  hand,  clinging  to  the  jug  with  the  other,  and 
calling  vociferously,  — 

"  Murder !  MURDER  !     Oh  !  will  the  spirits  help  ?  " 


AND    MAKES    A    NEW    ONE.  335 

The  spirits  evidently  would  not,  or  could  not,  under  the 
circumstances.  Archy  stumbled,  losing  his  hold  ;  a  part  of 
the  caudal  wool  coming  away  in  his  hand.  He  had  scarcely 
regained  his  "balance,  when  Billy  wheeled,  and  came  again 
with  a  wicked  leer.  Too  late  to  dodge,  he  retreated  back 
wards,  holding  the  jug  before  him,  his  only  defence.  Thun 
derbolt  struck  jug, — a  dull  crash;  and  thunderbolt,  boy,  and 
jug  went  down  miscellaneously  together. 

A  moment  after,  Archy  scrambled  to  his  feet.  Dismay 
was  in  his  countenance,  and  the  handle  of  the  jug  in  his 
hand.  At  a  little  distance  was  Billy,  blinded,  bathed  in  mo 
lasses,  and  flirting  his  head  with  snuffs  and  snorts  of  rage. 

The  genius  cast  a  heart-sick  glance  at  the  shattered  jug  and 
its  spattered  contents;  then  took  to  his  heels,  never  stopping 
to  look  back  until  he  had  tumbled  himself  over  a  wall. 
Then  he  rallied,  and  contemplated  himself  ruefully,  and  be 
moaned  the  molasses,  and  wept  as  he  thought  of  his  mother 
and  the  gingerbread.  What  should  he  do  ?  The  brook  was 
pouring  not  far  below,  the  sound  of  which  suggested  needful 
ablutions ;  and  he  wandered  down  towards  it  disconsolately. 

"Oh,  my  gracious  !  "  he  said,  standing  on  a  stone  by  a 
clump  of  willows,  and  regarding  himself  again  as  he  bent 
over  the  water.  "  Ain't  I  a  sight !  " 

He  had  abandoned  his  hat  on  the  battle-field  :  but  he  still 
clung  to  the  jug-handle  tenaciously;  and  an  equally  useless 
portion  of  the  jug's  contents  clung  to  him,  smearing  his 
hands,  and  variegating  his  light-colored  fustian  trousers  with 


330    ARCHT  MEETS  AN  OLD   ACQUAINTANCE, 

enormous  streaks;  while  his  cassimere  jacket,  once  blue  as 
the  sea,  but  long  since  faded,  showed  its  "  gray  and  melan 
choly  waist "  studded  with  an  archipelago  of  molasses 
islands. 

"  Ain't  I  a  sight  ?  "  he  repeated  with  solemn  depth  of  em 
phasis,  glancing  cautiously  around  him.  "  I  wouldn't  have 
any  one  see  me  now  for  all  "  — 

His  voice  died  in  his  throat,  leaving  his  mouth  wide  open 
with  consternation,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  a  young  woman  with 
in  three  yards  of  him,  sitting  by  the  willows,  with  an  infant 
on  her  lap.  She  smiled  at  his  plight,  and  asked  him  how  he 
did. 

"I  —  I  don't  do,  no  how!  thank  ye,  sir:  I  mean, 
ma'am!  "  And,  thinking  she  wished  to  shake  hands,  he  ad 
vanced,  but  shrunk  back  again,  stammering,  "I  can't: 
I'm  all  molasses  !  " 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  since  evil  and  shame 
had  come  upon  her ;  the  remembrance  of  which,  together  with 
the  innocent  witness  of  it  in  her  arms,  would  alone  have  been 
sufficient  to  overwhelm  him  with  confusion,  not  to  speak  of 
his  own  embarrassing  catastrophe.  She  waited  for  him  to 
recover  his  wits,  then  inquired  what  had  happened.  He  awk 
wardly  told  his  story. 

"  Then  'twas  you  I  heard  scream  ?  " 

"  Did  I  scream  ?  "  said  Archy.  "  Wai,  shouldn't  wonder 
a  mite  if  I  did.  To  have  a  bunting  corset  pitch  into  a  fel 
ler  that  way  !  Didn't  I  git  sweetened  ?  "  —  rubbing  out  the 


AND    MAKES    A    NEW    ONE.  337 

archipelago  with  wisps  of  dry  grass.  "  I  say,  folks  hain't 
got  no  right  to  turn  loose  critters  that  run  at !  " 

Lucy  laughed  with  sad  and  gentle  humor  as  he  got  down 
by  the  brook  and  washed  himself ;  then  turned  her  eyes  upon 
the  sleeping  babe  with  an  anxious  fondness  in  which  every 
thing  else  was  forgotten. 

When,  after  many  minutes,  Archy  ventured  to  steal  a 
glance  at  her,  there  she  still  sat,  motionless,  intent,  watching 
the  babe  with  a  mother's  all-absorbing  tenderness.  She  was 
pale  and  worn,  and  how  changed  !  —  her  bright,  girlish 
expression  lost  in  the  deep  womanly  look  of  suffering,  and 
of  love  greater  than  suffering ;  more  beautiful  than  ever,  in 
the  boy's  eyes  ;  and  with  a  certain  holy  calm  about  her  which 
inspired  him  with  awe. 

Was  this  lovely  being  the  sinner  the  world  called  her  ? 
Where  was  the  mark  of  guilt,  the  blush  of  shame  ?  Through 
the  pale  ashes  of  burnt-out  happiness  glowed  the  rapture  of  a 
new  joy,  —  a  mother's  love.  In  that  face,  Archy  saw  only 
purity  and  sweetness ;  and  the  heart  of  him  was  melted. 

"Archy,"  —  she  raised  her  eyes  with  a  soft  luminous 
look,  —  "  would  you  like  to  see  my  baby  ?  " 

"  Yours  !  "  said  Archy,  affecting  surprise  from  some  vague 
sense  of  delicacy. 

"  Why  not  mine,  the  darling?"  —  pressing  it  with  inef 
fable  fondness.  "  Oh,  she  is  just  as  innocent  and  sweet ! 
Come  and  look  at  her." 

He  flirted  the  water  from  his  hands,  and  rubbed  them  on 

22 


338    ARCHT  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 

his  trousers,  bashfully  approaching ;  while  she  uncovered  the 
half-hidden  little  face. 

"  She  is  mine ! — my  own  precious  !  God's  gift,  Archy !  " 
She  lifted  the  infant  on  her  arm,  her  whole  being  lighted  up 
with  a  noble  and  sweet  radiance. 

"  Oh,  the  leetle,  leetle,  pooty  thing  !  "  exclaimed  Archy 
with  genuine  emotion. 

"  Is  she  pretty?  "  —  she  smiled  proudly.  "  Look  !  — 
haven't  I  a  right  to  be  glad  and  happy  ?  She  laughs  at  you  ! 
Kiss  her,  Archy  !  " 

"  I'm  'feard  I  shall  hurt  it !  "  faltered  Archy  with  min 
gled  pity  and  reverence.  But  she  held  the  infant  up ;  and  he 
stooped  with  a  blush,  and  put  his  lips  timidly  to  its  cheek. 

"  Baby,"  she  said,  "  this  is  one  of  your  mother's  best 
friends ;  one  of  the  truest  hearts  in  all  this  great  sad  world 
you  have  come  into,  poor  little  soul! — She  don't  know  it 
now,  Archy  ;  but  she  will  some  day,  if"  — 

If  she  lives.  But  the  mother  could  not  speak  those  words  ; 
the  thought  of  the  babe  being  taken  from  her  striking  a  sud 
den  chill  into  her  heart. 

Archy,  deeply  moved  by  the  kind  things  she  said  of  him, 
observed  her  emotion  also  as  she  folded  the  babe  to  her 
breast.  He  winked  the  moisture  from  his  eyes,  and  said 
chokingly,  — 

"  Guess  I'll  go  V  pick  up  my  hat :  may  as  well.  Then, 
if  there's  any  thing  I  can  make  for  ye,  Miss  —  Mrs. — 
Lucy,"  he  stammered,  at  a  loss  how  to  address  one  in  her  situ 
ation. 


AND    MAKES    A    NEW    ONE.  339 

"  I  forgot  to  ask,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "  how  your  flying- 
machine  gets  on." 

"  Hain't  done  much  with  that  lately,"  replied  Archy.  "  I'm 
to  work  on  a  cob-saving  corn-sheller.  Under  impression." 

* '  Under  impression  ?     What's  that  ? ' ' 

"Sperits  help  me." 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  the  spirits  help  you,  Archy?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Archy  ingenuously  :  ' '  I  know  they  do  !  " 

Lucy  did  not  laugh.  Her  heart  was  beating  fast  with  pain 
ful  emotions. 

"  And  are  you  interested  in  ths  money-digging  too?  " 

"  Wai,  some.  Ma  says  I  ain't  stubbid  enough  to  work  in 
the  shaft.  But  there's  an  awful  great  heap  of  money  there,  I 
s'pose  ye  know." 

"I  know  nothing!  "  poor  Lucy  replied,  bowing  her  face 
over  her  babe. 

"What!  hain't  nobody  told  you?  I  thought  Guy  or 
Jehiel"  — 

"  I  believe  Jehiel  is  at  work  there;  but  he  never  speaks 
of  it  to  me.  It  is  all  a 'wretched  error,  I  fear,  Archy." 

"Think  so?"  cried  Archy,  astonished.  "You'll  see! 
They've  got  'most  to  the  money;  and  expect  every  day  "  — 

At  that  moment  a  distant  detonation  was  heard,  like  a  clap 
of  dull  thunder. 

"  That's  the  blast !  "  said  Archy. 

"  I  know  the  sound  too  well !  "  said  Lucy,  looking  as  if  it 
did  not  shake  and  tear  the  rocks  only,  but  her  heart  also. 


340    ARCHY  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 

"  Old  Doctor  Biddikin  Las  now  plenty  of  companions  in  his 
folly !  " 

"  He's  been  flyin'  around  all  winter  like  a  hen  with  her 
head  cut  off;  fussin'  about  the  diggins,  and  tryin'  to  git  Mad 
out  o'  jail.  But  then  there's  money  there  !  "  persisted  Archy ; 
"  though  ma  says  she's  glad  I've  kcp'  out  on't,  on  the  hull." 

"So  am  I.  Stay  at  home  with  her,  Archy:  you  are 
blessed  in  having  a  mother  and  a  home." 

"  I  know  it !  I  think  on't  sometimes,"  murmured  Archy, 
11  till  I  can't  help  "  —  choking.  "  And  you,  Lucy  !  "  —  he 
exclaimed  earnestly,  observing  her  pallor  and  sadness,  — 
«you"  — 

"I  —  I  have  no  mother,  no  home  !  "  said  Lucy. 

"  I  was  goin'  to  say,  if  you  want  to,  you  can  come  to 
our  house  and  stop  :  ma'll  let  you,  I  know,  if  I  tell  her ;  and 
we  won't  charge  ye  nothin'  for  your  board,"  gushed  from  the 
youth's  simple  heart. 

"  I  was  wrong  to  say  I  had  no  home,"  she  answered  after 
a  struggle.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hedge  are  very  kind  to  me. 
But  I  thank  you  from  my  heart,  dear  Archy.  If  ever  I  need 
shelter,  I  shall  remember  you." 

"Heard  from  your  pa  lately?  "said  Archy  in  a  thick 
voice,  passing  his  sleeve  across  his  face. 

"  Not  for  months  :  I  fear  I  have  lost  my  father  too.  He 
would  write,  if  he  could  ;  and  some  of  his  letters  would  reach 
either  me  or  Mr.  Pelt,  I  know  !  " 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  whispered  Archy. 


AND    MAKES    A    NEW    ONE.  341 

A  person  fishing  clown  the  brook  had  come  behind  the  wil 
lows.  He  must  have  approached  rather  slyly,  not  to  have 
been  seen  or  heard  before ;  and  he  now  stood  pretending  to 
arrange  his  hook,  while  his  features  writhed  with  a  grimace 
which  betrayed  that  he  had  been  listening.  Lucy  leaned  for 
ward  to  look,  and  knit  her  brow  as  she  recognized  red-headed 
Abner  Roane. 

"  Oh  !  how  do  you  do  ?  "  said  he,  affecting  surprise.  "  I've 
ketched  a  good  sizable  trout  here :  may  be  you'd  like  it." 
And  he  advanced,  amicably  grinning. 

"  Ma  says  fresh  fish  is  the  wust  thing  you  can  eat,"  whis 
pered  Archy,  blushing. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Lucy.     "  I  have  no  use  for  it." 

"Oh!  haven't  ye?  I'm  sorry;  for  I  ketched  it 'most  a 
purpose  for  you,"  said  Abner  fawningly. 

She  penetrated  him  with  a  glance  which  made  him  cringe. 

"  That  is,  I  thought  of  you  when  I  see  what  a  fine  trout  it 
was,  and  was  wishing  I  could  give  it  to  somebody  that  would 
relish  it.  Fine  day,  Miss  Arlyn.  Don't  ye  rather  think 
Mr.  Arlyn'll  be  home  this  spring,  seeing  he  don't  write?  " 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  expect  him  ?  "  demanded  Lucy. 

"  Only  my  surmises,"  said  Abner.  "  If  I  get  any  news, 
shall  I  let  you  know  ?  " 

The  keen  expression  with  which  she  eyed  him  softened  a 
little.  "  If  you  hear  any  thing,  if  you  can  tell  me  any  thing, 
about  him,  in  mercy  let  me  know  !  " 

"  Wai,  I'll  bear  it  in  mind.     I  rather  expect  we  shall  see 


342    ARCHT  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 

or  bear  from  him  this  spring,  if  he's  alive.  Good-morning  ! 
You  —  won't  take  the  trout?  Oh,  wnl !  nevermind.  I'll 
let  you  know  if  I  get  any  thing." 

And  Abner  proceeded  down  the  stream,  grimacing  unac 
countably  ;  furtively  touching  —  as  if  he  wished  to  make  sure 
he  had  it  —  a  letter  which  he  kept  carefully  in  his  pocket ;  a 
letter  which  the  child  of  old  Ben  Arlyn  would  have  given 
much  to  have. 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  means,"  she  said.  "  I  have  little 
hope  left  of  ever  seeing  my  father  again."  She  shuddered, 
perhaps  with  the  dread  of  meeting  him  if  he  should  come. 
"  But  don't  think  I  am  unblessed,  Archy.  I  have  my  baby ; 
she  is  my  treasure  :  the  world  may  go  as  it  will,  if  I  lean  keep 
her  !  "  And  she  folded  the  infant  closely. 

"  Can't  I  do  suthin'  for  ye?  "  said  Archy  wishfully,  seeing 
that  she  was  about  to  go. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Lucy,  rising.  "  When  you  hear  people 
speak  ill  of  me  and  my  darling,  tell  them  how  sweet  she  is, 
and  how  thankful  I  am  for  her.  Good-by,  good,  kind  Ar 
chy  !  " 

«  (J0od  —  by  !  "  — faltered  Archy.  "  Good-by,  dear  lit 
tle  baby  !  "  And  he  stood  staring  with  emotion  as  she  bore 
the  babe  away  upon  her  breast. 

She  was  soon  out  of  sight.  Then  with  a  qualm  he  remem 
bered  the  molasses,  his  mother  waiting,  and  his  hat  in  the 
field.  He  looked  around  for  a  club ;  and,  having  found  one, 
returned  to  the  scene  of  the  late  conflict.  Billy  showed 


AND    MAKES    A    NEW    ONE.  343 

no  disposition  to  fight,  not  having  yet  recovered  from  the 
molasses ;  and,  seizing  his  hat,  Archy  clapped  it  on  his  head, 
hurled  the  club  at  his  enemy,  and  ran  home,  eager  to  relate 
to  his  mother  the  catastrophe  of  the  jug  and  his  encounter 
with  Lucy. 


344  THE     TREASURE. 


XXX. 

THE   TREASURE. 

EANWHILE  the  Muse  is  impatient  to  be  else 
where.     Off  she  goes  like  a  fox  to  the  mountain ; 

and  we,  pursuing  swiftly,  are  just  in  time  to  see 
her  whisk  into  a  hole. 

A  dungeon-like  place,  full  of  Tartarean  smoke  and  gloom ; 
the  ante-chamber  of  Hades,  one  would  think.  In  at  one  end, 
from  above,  steals  the  light  of  heaven  ;  at  the  opposite  end 
flickers  an  obscure  bluish  glare,  like  gleams  from  the  other 
place.  Here  we  find  the  Muse,  prying  into  crevices  at  the 
extremity  of  the  cavern,  in  company  with  a  nose  which  must 
be  Mr.  Murk's. 

Recovering  from  our  surprise  a  little,  we  begin  to  see  where 
we  are.  These  purplish  gleams  are  of  burning  candles  stuck 
in  chinks  of  the  cave.  The  smoke  and  smell  are  disagreeably 
suggestive  of  blasting-powder.  These  irregular  narrow  walls 
are  of  rock  ;  of  solid,  jagged,  unstratified  rock,  the  rude  floor, 
and  the  low  broken  roof,  which  has  jammed  Mr.  Murk's  hat. 
The  cavern  is  boot-shaped,  and  we  are  in  the  toe  of  it.  The 


THE     TREASURE.  345 

old  shaft  of  the  money-diggers  answers  to  the  leg  ;  and  this  is 
the  foot,  which  our  friends  have  been  all  winter  laboriously 
excavating,  and  with  which  they  expect  now,  at  every  pulse 
of  the  blast,  to  kick  a  hole  through  into  the  silver-mine  of  the 
Spaniards.  A  boot  sublime,  gigantic ;  but  so  very  expensive 
an  article,  that  some  are  sorry  they  ever  put  their  foot  in  it. 

Hence  the  anxiety  with  which  Mr.  Murk,  the  Muse,  and 
another  individual,  are  peering  into  the  dim  cavity  before  the 
smoke  of  the  last  explosion  has  cleared  away.  To  any  but 
the  faithful,  the  aspect  would  be  extremely  discouraging.  The 
obdurate  igneous  rock  defies  the  drills.  Only  a  few  frag 
ments  can  be  blown  away  at  a  blast ;  and  often  the  charge 
shoots  out,  as  from  a  gun-barrel,  without  breaking  the  rock. 
This  is  of  the  kind  called  "trap,"  abhorred  by  miners.  It 
keeps  two  smiths  perpetually  employed  sharpening  the  bits. 
Not  one  of  the  workmen  believes  there  is  silver  in  the  moun 
tain  ;  and  you  might  see  them  secretly  grin  at  human  credu 
lity  as  they  ploddingly  earn  their  day's  wages,  and  pocket 
the  pay. 

They  are  now  clearing  the  fragments  from  the  foot  of  the 
boot ;  filling  therewith  a  large  bucket,  or  tub,  which  plies  up 
and  down  the  cavity  of  the  leg.  It  is  lifted  by  a  windlass  at 
the  top,  emptied,  and  lowered  again.  Suppose  we  step  into 
it  as  it  rises ;  for  the  patch  of  blue  heaven  visible  above  there 
appears  inviting.  Daylight  brightens  around  us  as  we  as 
cend  ;  and,  lo  !  we  stand  on  the  mountain  summit,  the  broad 
dome  of  the  sky  arched  above  us,  and  the  azure  ocean  of  the 
world  circling  around. 


346  THE     TREASURE. 

The  heaps  of  excavations  have  grown  considerably  since 
autumn.  The  forge  blazes,  the  anvil  rings ;  little  Job  blow 
ing  the  bellows.  Jehiel  and  another  work  at  the  windlass  : 
the  rocks  rattle  as  they  empty  the  bucket.  To  add  to  the  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  scene,  Jack  the  crow  sits  on  the  roof  of 
the  shed  which  covers  the  forge  from  the  weather,  philosophi 
cally  contemplating  the  world  from  his  commanding  perch. 

Suddenly  Jack  flaps  his  wings,  and  utters  his  half-human 
laugh. 

"Ha,  ha  !  laugh,  Jack  !  Mad's  come  home  !  " 

Job  glances  over  his  shoulder  ;  and,  sure  enough,  there  is 
the  junior  Biddikin  approaching,  over  the  rocks  and  among 
the  sparse  and  stunted  trees  of  the  summit,  from  the  south. 

Pale  is  Madison,  as  if  he  had  kept  long  out  of  the  sun. 
But  he  is  fat  and  swaggering,  and  his  eye  glitters  with  its  old 
fire.  The  crow,  flying  to  meet  him,  perches  on  his  shoulder, 
fluttering,  bobbing  his  head,  and  gossiping  unintelligibly. 

"  Glad  to  see  a  feller,  old  Jack  ?  "  says  Mad,  touched  by 
this  unexpected  welcome.  "  But  there's  some  that  won't  be 
so  glad ! "  he  mutters,  as  the  thought  of  his  imprisonment 
comes  burningly  back,  and  the  desire  for  vengeance  kindles. 
"  Hello,  Job  !  Where's  the  old  man  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  jail  for  you,"  says  simple  little  Job,  staring. 

Mad  winces,  cursing  copiously  the  jail,  and  those  who  put 
him  in  it,  as  he  swaggers  towards  the  windlass. 

"  You'd  better  slack  up  a  little,"  suggests  Jehiel,  raising 
the  tub.  "  You  don't  know  who  hears  you." 


THE     TREASURE.  347 

"  What  do  I  care  who  hears  ?  Show  me  the  man  that  dares 
stop  my  mouth !  Where's  Elphaz  Pelt,  with  his  fines,  and 
his  cross-eyed  villain's  face  that's  waiting  to  be  knocked  off 
when  I "  —  Mad  stops  and  stares. 

Up  comes  the  bucket  from  the  shaft ;  but,  instead  of  a  heap 
of  rubbish,  he  sees  emerge  a  pair  of  small  gloved  hands  hold 
ing  the  rope,  a  jaunty  juvenile  cap,  frock-coat,  trousers,  and 
a  pale,  peculiar  face,  which  he  has  a  tantalizing  sense  of  hav 
ing  seen  before,  but  can't  guess  when  or  where.  It  is  the 
person  whom  the  Muse  found  with  Mr.  Murk  in  the  mine, 
and  whom  Mad  may  well  be  excused  for  not  recognizing.  He 
is  staring  and  wondering ;  when  the  unknown  steps  from  the 
tub,  pulls  a  soiled  glove  from  a  white  jewelled  hand,  draws  a 
handkerchief  from  the  tail  of  the  frock-coat,  and,  observing  the 
jail-bird,  says  curtly,  — 

"Please  dust  me." 

The  glance  of  those  eyes,  the  tones  of  that  perfectly  femi 
nine  voice,  bring  electric  recollection,  and  flush  his  bleached 
cheeks. 

"  It's  the  woman  with  the  devil  in  her !  "  he  says  to  him 
self  as  he  dusts. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  she  asks,  taking  the  handkerchief 
again. 

"  I  don't  know  —  there's  something  about  you  —  my  arm 
tingles  to  the  elbow  !  By  George  !  what  is  it  ?  " 

"It  isn't  the  devil,"  is  the  significant  response ;  and  the 
youth,  thinking  she  must  have  read  his  thoughts,  is  still  more 
troubled. 


348  THE      TREASURE. 

"  Ah  !  who  have  we  here  ?  "  said  a  voice  from  the  shaft ; 
and  the  philanthropist's  head  and  shoulders  appeared,  coming 
up  in  the  tub.  "  A  new  brother  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  me  ?  "  cried  Mad, 
regaining  some  of  his  lost  impudence.  "  Your  nose  is  longer 
than  your  memory." 

"Personally,  I  recalled  your  features;  spiritually,"  added 
Mr.  Murk,  "  I  marvelled.  Long  confinement  has  rendered 
you  susceptible  to  impressions.  I  perceive  that  the  influence, 
which  was  strong  on  Sister  Christina  in  the  shaft,  has  gone 
from  her  to  you  ;  and,  I  pray  you,  don't  resist  it."  The  Socra- 
tic  arm  began  to  wag.  "  Is  our  brother  prepared  to  join  us  ?  " 
he  asked  of  the  invisibles.  "  He  is,  —  or  nearly  so ;  for  that 
peculiar  shake  "  —  Mr.  Murk  illustrated  —  "means  doubtful, 
or  not  immediately." 

In  the  mean  time,  Mad  was  regarding  Christina  with  ab 
sorbing  admiration,  tempered  by  a  certain  awe  and  reverence 
which  he  had  never  before  felt  for  any  woman. 

"I  shall  have  hopes  of  him,"  she  said  with  knit  brow, 
"when  I  see  him  set  to  work.  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
young  man,  now  you  have  got  out  of  jail  ?  Loaf  about  the 
taverns?  quarrel  with  your  father?  get  drunk,  as  usual  ?  " 

Mad  writhed  under  her  scorn  :  but  his  audacity,  even  the 
power  of  resentment,  was  taken  from  him ;  and,  so  far  from 
answering  with  his  customary  insolence,  he  could  not  answer 
at  all. 

"  Come,  Mad,"  then  said   Christina,  her  tones  changing 


THE     TREASURE.  349 

to  sympathy  and  pity ;  and  she  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his 
arm,  leading  him  aside.  "Let's  have  a  little  talk  together. 
You  think  I  am  hard  on  you?  " 

"  If  any  man  had  said  it "  — 

"  Yes,  I  know  :  you  would  have  done  some  rash  thing.  But 
I  might  have  said  much  more,  and  spoken  only  God's  truth, 
at  which  no  one  has  a  right  to  be  offended.  0  young  man  ! " 
she  said  sadly,  "on  this  glorious  mountain-top,  in  the  light 
of  this  beautiful  day,  look  at  yourself, —  at  your  past  life, 
at  your  future  ;  and  consider  well.  I  know  the  good  that  is 
in  you ;  and,  when  I  see  you  going  the  way  of  corruption,  I 
grieve,  I  am  angry." 

"  I  do  well  enough  when  folks  will  let  me  alone,"  muttered 
the  youth.  • 

"  Nobody  hinders  you  from  doing  well  but  yourself.  If 
you  are  lazy,  licentious,  revengeful,  reckless,  and  so  become 
a  miserable,  sottish,  rotten-hearted,  despised  old  man,  or  die 
early  in  your  sins,  it  is  your  own  fault,  and  nobody's  else,  let 
me  tell  you." 

Whatever  the  power  that  inspired  her,  whether  of  devil,  or 
of  an^el,  or  of  woman  only,  it  was  too  much  for  Mad,  who 

O       '  v   ' 

stood  aghast  at  the  revelation  of  himself  which  it  suddenly 
opened  within  him. 

%  "  That's  the  programme,"  said  Christina.  "  Are  you  go 
ing  to  live  by  it  ?  Here,  this  day,  make  your  choice,  and 
soon ;  for  I  have  no  time  or  words  to  throw  away  on  the 
filthily  inclined.  But  if  you  mean  to  be  a  man,  if  you  feel 


350  THE     TREASURE. 

the  good  that  is  in  you,  and  resolve  to  turn  your  powers  to 
some  worthy  use,  I  am  the  friend  to  stand  by  you  and  help 

you." 

"If  you  will,"  said  Madison,  struggling  with  himself, — 
"  I  know  what  I  have  been,  and  what  I  am  capable  of  being,  — 
you  shall  see  !  " 

"  Your  hand  on  that !  "  exclaimed  Christina.  "  Now  show 
that  you  are  in  earnest  by  going  to  work." 

"  I'm  willing,"  said  Mad  humbly  :  "  only  give  me  some 
thing  to  do." 

"  Can  you  turn  that  windlass? " 

"Yes,  if  you  say  so." 

"Very  well:  turn  it." 

Mad  immediately  stripped  off  his  coat,  and  went  to  assist 
Jehiel. 

Christina  seated  herself  in  the  door  of  the  hut,  with  an  anx 
ious  countenance,  pondering  unspeakable  things,  when  a  brisk 
little  old  man  tripped  by  her.  He  was  dapper ;  he  was  prim : 
he  wore  a  new  suit  of  shining  broadcloth,  a  new  shining  bea 
ver,  and  an  air  of  complaisant  gentility,  which  made  the  seeress 
knit  her  brows,  and  sigh. 

"How  goes  the  blasting?  Any  discoveries,  Mr.  Murk? 
"What !  Madison  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  amazement.  "My  son 
Madison !  " 

"  I  got  the  start  of  you,"  said  Mad,  leaning  on  the  spokes 
of  the  windlass.  "  I  footed  it  'cross  lots  to  try  my  legs." 

The  doctor's  delight  at  meeting  his  son  was  marred  by 
decided  displeasure. 


THE     TREASURE.  351 

"  You  did  wrong  !  "  he  exclaimed  emphatically.  "  I  had 
a  carriage  for  you,  and  a  new  suit  of  clothes  which  I  were 
taking  to  you  for  the  occasion.  You  should  have  come  away 
in  style,  like  a  gentleman  and  a  gentleman's  son.  I  were 
grievously  disappointed.  And  "  — -  sharply  —  "  what  are 
you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Earning  my  living,"  said  Mad. 

"  Earning  your  living  !  "  ejaculated  the  doctor.  "  Degrad 
ing  yourself,  you  should  say  !  Your  coat  off,  —  making  a 
Paddy  of  yourself!  I  am  ashamed  of  you  !  " 

"  Come,  Mad,"  said  Jehiel :  "bear  a  hand." 

Mad  obeyed,  and  the  bucket  rose  in  the  shaft ;  the  doctor 
looking  on  with  disgust. 

"To  be  ordered  about  by  that  man,  like  a  common  laborer ! 
Don't  submit  to  it !  — you,  the  heir  to  a  tenth  part  of  the  trea 
sure,  and  the  son  of  a  gentleman  !  Come  !  " —  authoritatively 
pulling  Mad's  sleeve. 

Mad  answered  with  a  backward  kick  (which  took  effect  on 
the  paternal  shins),  and  continued  laboring  at  the  windlass. 

"  Kick  your  father,  do  you?  "  cried  the  exasperated  Biddi- 
kin,  seizing  him.  "  I  command  you,  I  command  you,  sir,  to 
come  away !  " 

Mad  quietly  assisted  in  landing  the  tub  ;  then  turned  upon 
the*  senior,  gave  his  neck  a  sudden  tweak,  and  sent  him  reel 
ing  from  the  shaft.  The  way  was  rough  :  the  old  man's  legs 
were  not  competent  to  travel  it  in  that  abrupt  fashion  ;  and, 
naturally,  he  fell.  Christina  now  came  forward,  flamingly  in 
dignant. 


352  THE     TREASURE. 

"  You  sor  that !  "  cried  the  doctor  angrily.  "  That's  his 
gratitude  ;  that's  the  treatment  I  receive  from  my  son  !  "  — 
brushing  the  dirt  from  his  new  clothes. 

"  Is  this  what  you  promised  me !  "  said  Christina,  levelling 
a  glance  at  the  jail-bird.  Then  turning  to  the  doctor,— 
"  Biddikin  !  remember  !  " 

Mad,  abashed  and  repentant,  returned  to  his  work ;  while 
the  old  man  stood  trembling  and  chattering. 

"I — I  were  wrong,  perhaps.  But  he  is  my  son,  and  I 
am  not  willing  he  should  disgrace  himself." 

"  A  son  of  yours  disgrace  himself  by  honest  labor!  "  ex 
claimed  the  seeress.  "  Has  he  inherited  so  stainless  a  name 
from  his  father  ?  You  called  him  a  Paddy ;  but  I  tell  you, 
Doctor  Biddikin,  an  industrious  Paddy  is  more  respectable  in 
my  eyes  than  a  would-be  gentleman." 

"  Certainly  ;  and  —  I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  old 
man,  looking  singularly  pale  and  unwholesome  in  his  new 
clothes.  ' '  I  forgot  myself. ' ' 

Christina  turned  to  the  son.  "  Attend  to  your  business, 
Mad;  and  never,"  —  in  a  low  tone,  —  "  never  lay  hands  on 
that  poor  old  man  again." 

"  Right !  "  cried  the  doctor.  "  Let  him  work :  it  may  do 
him  good.  How  —  how  near  are  we  to  the  treasure  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  we  are  all  simple  and  unselfish,  the  treasure 
will  appear ;  but,  at  this  rate,  I  despair  !  "  And  Christina 
returned  to  her  seat  by  the  door  of  the  hut. 

Appearances  in  the  shaft  that  morning  had  filled  her  mind 


THE     TREASURE.  353 

with  disquiet ;  which  was  now  aggravated  by  a  contempt  for 
human  nature,  such  as  sensitive  souls  are  apt  to  feel  in  their 
dealings  with  weak  men. 

Disgust  and  bitter  doubts  assailed  her ;  and  for  a  moment 
she  distrusted  not  her  companions  only,  but  herself  also,  her 
mediumship,  her  heavenly  guardians,  and  her  God. 

She  did  not  see  Guy  approaching.  He  came  and  leaned 
by  the  hut,  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  as  he  gazed 
around  at  the  picture  of  the  world  painted  by  the  April  sun 
and  haze. 

"What  illusion!"  murmured  Christina,  looking  at  the 
shaft. 

But  Guy  saw  only  the  sky,  the  horizon,  the  mountains,  for- 
rests,  and  farms,  transfigured  by  distance  and  the  shining 
miracle  of  the  day ;  and,  remembering  how  lately  he  had  felt 
the  vulgarities  and  vexations  of  that  lower  glorified  world,  he 
answered,  with  a  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  his  tones,  — 

"  It  is  the  kind  poetry  is  made  of.  When  in  the  world,  and 
of  it,  one  sees  all  its  hard  outlines,  its  meanness  and  literal 
ism  ;  but,  to  poets  on  the  peaks  of  life,  every  thing  appears 
softened,  and  swimming  in  color." 

"  That  is  not  the  illusion  I  meant,"  said  Christina.  "  Guy 
Bannington,  come  here.  Comfort  me;  for  my  heart  is 
heavy." 

"  What  comfort  can  I  give  ?  I  have  felt  very  little  myself 
to-day,  till  the  mountain  breeze  blew  some  of  the  dust  from 

23 


354  THE     TREASURE. 

my  soul,  and  I  saw  that  the  earth  continued  glorious  in  spite 
of  us." 

"Letters?" 

"  A  curious  batch  of  'em."  Guy  seated  himself  on  the 
rock  by  her  side.  "  Here  is  one  from  our  worthy  merchant- 
prince,  Robert  Green." 

"  Empty?  "  said  Christina,  looking  for  money. 

"  Empty  of  every  thing  but  excuses.  He  has  had  losses, 
like  Dogberry ;  notes  to  pay,  and  so  forth.  Besides,  he  thinks 
he  has  already  contributed  his  share  towards  the  work,  and 
says  I  must  call  on  the  other  directors  for  help,"  said  Guy 
with  disappointment  and  disdain. 

"  So  much  for  him  !  "  exclaimed  Christina,  casting  the  let 
ter  on  the  ground.  "  Show  me  the  millionnaire  whose  human 
ity  is  half  as  deep  as  his  pocket !  " 

"  He  is  as  solemnly  pledged  to  this  work  as  any  of  us," 
said  Guy.  "  But  expenses  are  formidable,  and  faith  is  weak. 
He  is  not  the  only  caitiff." 

"Why,  who  now?" 

"  Deacon  Pitman,  the  good  deacon,  the  fat  and  pious  dea 
con  !  I  won't  show  you  his  letter ;  'tis  too  base  !  There  he 
goes  to  the  winds!"  —  tearing  it,  and  scattering  the  frag 
ments  on  the  rocks. 

Christina  turned  pale.  "  Has  he,  too,  deserted? — become 
poverty-stricken  just  when  money  is  wanted?  " 

"  Not  poverty-stricken,  but  conscience-stricken.  It  takes  a 
millionnaire  to  make  the  excuse  of  want  of  means ;  it  takes 


THE     TREASURE.  355 

a  deacon  to  make  the  excuse  of  a  suddenly  awakened  moral 
sense.  As  long  as  there  was  a  prospect  of  getting  the  treas 
ure  with  but  little  trouble,  all  was  well ;  but,  as  difficulty 
increases,  faith  decreases.  And  what  do  you  think  ?  The 
excellent  man  has  just  discovered  that  my  connection  with 
Lucy  is  scandalous,  and  concluded  that  he  ought  not  to  compro 
mise  his  respectability  by  continuing  associated  with  me.  As 
it  would  have  required  some  courage  to  tell  me  this  to  my  face, 
he  wrote  it,  and  dropped  the  letter  in  the  post-office,  and  ran." 

"Well,  well!  what  next?" 

"  The  worst  news  of  all." 

"  Don't  tell  me  there  is  worse  !  I  shall  give  up  humanity ; 
I  shall  give  up  the  ghost !  " 

Guy  unfolded  a  letter.  '  *  The  old  patriarch ,  —  Haddow,  — 
the  blessed  saint !"  interposed  Christina.  "Don't  tell  me 
he  lias  failed  us  !  I  can't  believe  it.  A  muddy-souled  dea 
con,  a  pusillanimous  merchant,  —  I  don't  care  for  them  ;  but 
that  beautiful  old  man  !  —  he  has  contributed  more  than  all 
the  rest,  and  you  shouldn't  have  asked  him  for  money." 

"  I  have  not,  and  he  has  not  refused.  The  news  is  sadder 
than  that.  See  what  Mrs.  Governor  Smith  writes.  She  has 
been  to  visit  him." 

"  In  a  mad-house  !  "  articulated  Christina.  She  read  the 
letter ;  then  folded  her  hands,  and  regarded  Guy  with  mute 
horror'  and  indignation. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Guy,  "  he  is  just  as  insane  as  we  are,  — 
as  every  person  is  whose  belief  is  not  popular,  —  who  sacri- 


356  THE     TREASURE. 

fices  property  and  respectability  for  humanity's  sake.  The 
world  can't  understand  such  sacrifices,  and  votes  the  man  mad. 
But  I'm  afraid  there's  foul  play  in  Haddow's  case.  'Twas 
his  own  family  that  sent  him  to  the  asylum, — to  secure  his 
property,  it  appears." 

"  I  am  sick  of  life  !     Don't  tell  me  any  more." 

"  It  will  refresh  you  to  know  that  I  have  two  letters  from 
the  Hon.  Cephas." 

She  looked  up  anxiously.  The  expression  of  Guy's  face 
boded  no  good  of  her  friend. 

"  This  one  is  to  me.  He  says  he  is  coming  up  here  in  a 
few  days,  and  will  try  to  bring  some  money  :  but  he  has  none 
to  send ;  for  which  he  is  very  sorry,  and  overflows  with  amia 
ble  regrets.  This  other  is  to  you." 

Christina  took  it  eagerly,  read  it  with  a  scowl,  and  crushed 
it  up.  "Show  me  yours."  She  read  that  also.  "Now 
look  !  "  she  exclaimed  :  "  if  'tisn't  enough  to  make  one's  soul 
blush  scarlet !  He  has  no  money  for  the  cause  of  humanity, 
—  the  cause  he  is  pledged  to  support ;  but  see  what  he  sends 
to  me  unasked  !  " 

Guy  unrolled  a  crumpled  paper  which  had  come  in  her  let 
ter.  It  was  a  draft  for  seventy-five  dollars. 

"  I  asked  for  only  fifty,"  he  said  with  a  cold  sneer.  "  It 
takes  you  to  thaw  Snow." 

"And  did  you  think  he  cared  for  humanity?"  she  cried 
with  a  bitter  laugh.  "  You  don't  know  Cephas.  I'll  en 
lighten  you.  He  is  a  vampire  that  feeds  on  women's 
hearts." 


THE     TREASURE.  357 

"  'Tis  well  you've  found  him  out,"  said  Guy  significantly. 

"  Yes  !  — well !  — after  I  have  placed  myself  under  obli 
gations  to  him  that  cannot  be  cancelled.  People  talk  of  the 
slavery  of  the  marriage-tie.  There's  a  worse  slavery  than 
that,  —  the  slavery  of  obligations  ;  when  you  have  accepted 
favors  you  can't  repay,  and  find  your  relations  with  the  giver 
grown  irksome." 

"Why  have  you  not  warned  me  of  the  character  of  this 
man  ? ' '  Guy  demanded. 

"Because  I  have  allowed  his  professions  to  have  weight 
with  me ;  taking  his  word  before  the  testimony  of  my  own 
heart.  His  purse  was  always  open  to  me.  He  protested 
that  he  had  no  personal  object  in  view,  no  motive  but  to  bene 
fit;  and — I  was  weak.  But  'tis  clear  now.  Take  it:  I'll 
none  of  it !  "  —  refusing  the  draft. 

The  face  of  Guy  was  troubled.  ' '  Is  this  the  stuff  our 
brothers  are  made  of  ?  Are  these  the  reformers  worthy  to  in 
augurate  the  new  and  divine  order  of  things  ?  Christina,  we 
stand  almost  alone  !  " 

She  fixed  her  eyes  steadily  upon  him.  "  And  what  if  it 
is  all  delusion?  " 

"  It  isn't  possible  !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  nervous,  glitter 
ing  look.  "  Christina,  tempt  me  not !  I  haven't  undertaken 
this  work  without  deep  and  terrible  convictions.  Now,  though 
all  desert  me,  I  will  stay.  Though  I  was  to  have  no  pecuni 
ary  responsibility  in  the  matter,  and  though  I  now  find  that 
entire  responsibility  settling  on  my  shoulders,  I  will  not  shrink. 


358  THE     TREASURE. 

I  relied  upon  the  pledges  of  others  when  I  hired  these  men. 
They  shall  be  paid.  The  work  shall  go  on.  I'll  know  if 
there  is  treasure  in  these  rocks,  and  no  obstacle  shall  stop  me 
short  of  the  absolutely  insurmountable. 

"  Then  all  is  well !  "  said  Christina,  kindling  at  his  fire.  "  I 
haven't  been  deceived.  I  have  seen  silver  in  the  mountain  : 
it  was  not  delusion.  One  true  soul  restores  to  me  my  faith. 
Guy  !  "  —  she  leaned  towards  him  with  a  look  of  passionate 
adoration, —  "you  have  comforted  me!  If  all  the  world 
should  go,  and  only  you  and  I  were  left,  I  should  be  com 
forted." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  be  put  to  that  test,"  said  Guy.  "  Dif 
ficulty  is  a  sieve  which  only  the  finest  natures  can  pass :  the 
coarser  stop  in  the  meshes.  When  all  the  rest  are  left  be 
hind,  you  and  I  will  have  the  world  to  ourselves,  Christina." 

He  looked  seriously  and  kindly  upon  her.  She  repaid  him 
with  a  gaze  of  burning  love. 


ABNER'S     LETTER.  359 


XXXI. 

ABNER'S  LETTER. 

LTHOUGH  Squire  Pelt  enjoyed  the  luxury  of 
getting  his  rival  convicted  by  a  jury,  and  lodged 

in  jail  for  the  winter,  Mad  had  achieved  a  Par 
thian  revenge.  An  arrow  had  pierced  Pelt's  heart,  —  an 
epistolary  shaft  from  the  vindictive  beau,  barbed  with  triumph 
ant  taunts,  and  poisoned  with  the  perfidy  of  Sophy. 

Just  as  Sophy  expected ;  and  she  accordingly  had  prepared 
in  her  defence  an  intricate  web  of  explanations  and  excuses, 
ingenious,  but  ineffectual .  Mad's  letter  detailed  the  circum 
stances  of  the  night-ride  ;  which,  together  with  other  stinging 
statements,  overwhelmed  the  legal  mind  of  Elphaz  with  proofs, 
and  caused  him,  not  exactly  to  break  his  heart,  but  to  break 
the  engagement.  Widow  Pinworth  was  disconsolate.  But 
Sophy,  when  all  was  over,  laughed  heartlessly  at  her  mother 
for  intermeddling ;  said  she  was  glad  of  it ;  that  she  detested 
Pelt,  and  that  she  meant  to  accept  the  first  man  now  who 
offered  himself. 

The  first  who  offered  himself  was  red-headed  Abner  Roane, 
to  Widow  Pinworth's  infinite  disgust. 


360  ABNER'S     LETTER. 

Meanwhile  the  Pelt  mansion  verged  towards  completion, 
with  its  noble  portico  and  iron  fence,  a  source  of  lasting  heart 
ache  to  the  widow,  and  of  reviving  hopes  to  other  mothers  of 
interesting  daughters.  But  Elphaz,  all  that  winter,  was  sat 
urnine  ;  was  grim ;  mistrustful  of  the  sex ;  and  kept  both  eyes 
on  his  business. 

In  the  beautiful  spring  days,  however,  when  the  birds 
choose  their  mates  with  song,  and  the  bubble-cheeked  frogs 
shrill  their  amatory  strains  in  the  marshes,  Pelt  is  reminded 
of  his  blasted  hopes.  By  many  things  :  among  others,  a  most 
provoking  circumstance ;  namely,  Abner's  engagement  with 
Sophy. 

He  can't  stand  that.  For  some  time,  indeed,  he  has  treated 
the  red-headed  youth  with  intolerable  contumely;  and  now, 
bursting  abruptly  into  the  office  this  fine  April  afternoon,  and 
catching  him  at  a  letter,  he  rushes  to  seize  it. 

"  Show  me  that!"  he  commands,  nose  white,  and  eyes 
Bcintillant. 

"  This  —  this  is  a  private  dokemunt,"  says  breathless  Ab- 
ner,  putting  both  hands  over  it,  and  looking  up  scared  at 
Elphaz. 

"Give  it  here,  I  say!"  —  the  nasal  gristle  whitening 
more  and  more  under  the  pressure  of  rage,  like  wet  sand 
which  barefoot  boys  tread  upon  to  make  it  "  lighten."  And 
Pelt  clutches  the  Roane  collar. 

"I  —  I'd  ruther  not!  "  articulates  red-head,  presenting  a 
no  less  curious  facial  appearance,  with  his  terrified  smile,  stere- 


ABNER'S    LETTER.  361 

otype  edition,  not  improved.  "  I'd  rutlier  you'd  leg'go  my 
clo'es  fust!  you've  tore  'em  now  !  "  —  struggling  to  remove 
the  hand  from  his  collar,  and  turning  up  a  countenance  diver 
sified  with  flushes  and  pale  streaks. 

"If  you  think,"  —  Pelt  relaxes  his  clutch;  for  he  has 
ripped  the  lappel  a  little,  and  he  fears  he  may  be  laying  him 
self  liable  to  damages ;  but  he  speaks  in  his  fiercest  browbeat 
ing  way,  —  "if  you  think  I  rent  this  office  for  you  to  trans 
act  private  business  in,  you're  grandly  mistaken.  Nothing 
goes  on  here  that  I  can't  have  cognizance  of.  Now  understand 
that." 

"  I  guess  I  do,"  says  Abner,  beginning  to  breathe  again, 
and  putting  on  a  certain  insolent  knowingness  of  expression 
very  offensive.  "  I  shall  show  you  this  dokemunt  just  when 
I  please,  and  not  much  sooner,  I  tell  ye  !  "  And  he  grins 
pallidly. 

Wonder  and  wrath  possess  Elphaz,  and  wrath  is  upper 
most. 

"  Young  man  !  "  —  and  with  a  snaky  finger  he  points  to 
the  door. 

"  Gro  ?  "  simpers  Abner,  with  more  of  the  expression  Pelt 
does  not  like. 

"  Start !  "  roars  Elphaz.  "  Down  them  stairs,  or  I'll  kick 
ye  down ! " 

"  All  ready  !"  says  Roane  coolly.  "But  mabby  you'd 
like  to  see  the  letter  fust." 

Pelt  would  decidedly ;  and  Abner  is  reprieved  while  he 


ABNER'S     LETTER. 


flashes  his  fiery  double  vision  on  the  sheet.  Wonder  and 
wi  ath  possess  him ;  and  now  wonder  is  uppermost :  for  the  let 
ter,  which  he  supposed  intended  for  Sophy,  is  addressed  to 
Lucy,  and  commences  in  this  fashion  :  — 

"  Miss  LUCY  AKLYN.  Respected  Madam,  — The  reason 
you  saw  the  undersigned  a-fishing  to-day,  and  which  you  may 
have  seen  him  on  previous  occasions  passing  with  rod  and  line 
by  the  brook  which  meandures  beyond  the  house  which  has 
the  honor  of  being  your  residence  (viz.,  Jehiel  Hedge's),  the 
undersigned  might  explain,  and  would  astonish  you,  if  you 
would  but  grant  an  interview  which  he  has  sought  in  this  way 
in  order  to  get  a  word  with  you ;  not  venturing  to  call  openly, 
fear  of  offence  :  though  he  has  in  his  possession  facts  of  tho 
most  utmost  importance  to  you,  whom  I  fear  have  been 
wronged  by  a  man  I  have  long  served  faithfully,  and  blinded 
my  eyes  to  his  misdeeds,  but  whom  I  now  suspect  is  a  villain 
of  the  darkest  calibre  "  — 

Here  the  sense  of  the  letter  disappears  in  blots  where  Abner 
put  his  hands  on  it  before  the  ink  was  dry.  It  takes  the  law 
yer  a  minute  to  recover  from  the  stroke  ;  his  features  twitch 
ing  and  working  remarkably  the  while.  Then  he  strides  to 
the  door,  and  locks  it. 

"  You  keep  your  distance,"  ejaculates  Roane,  rushing  to 
the  window,  "  or  I'll  put  my  head  out,  and  screech  murder. " 

"  Shet  that  winder  !  "  —  Pelt  speaks  in  the  dialect  of  his 
boyhood,  as  he  is  apt  to  do  when  excited.  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  to 


ABNER'S     LETTER.  363 

hurt  ye," — drawing  back  to  avoid  publicity.  "Think  I'd 
dirty  my  hands  with  ye  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  would  !  you'd  be  glad  to  murder  me,  and  keep 
your  villany  secret !  But  I've  wrote  another  letter,  containing 
all  the  facts,  and  only  hesitated  to  deliver  it  on  your  account ; 
and  it's  in  the  hands  of  a  responsible  party  now ;  and,  jest  as 
sure  as  any  thing  happens  to  me,  it'll  be  sent  to  Lucy  forth 
with  instanter ! " 

"You're  excited,  Abner,"  says  Pelt.  "Be  calm.  Le's 
talk  it  over.  We've  always  been  friends,  Abner  ;  haven't 
we?" 

"  Friends !  And  how  you've  treated  me  lately  !  —  threat 
ened  jest  now  to  kick  me  down  stairs  !  " 

"  This  is  ungrateful,  Abner,  — because  I  happen  to  have  an 
irritable  temper,"  says  the  conciliatory  Pelt,  —  "  after  all  I've 
done  for  you." 

"  Done  for  me  !  you've  done  for  me  sights!  Hain't  you 
used  me  like  a  dog  ever  since  you  thought  I  had  a  notion 
after  Sophy?  Come!" 

"  Be  calm,  be  calm  !"  And  Elphaz  sits  down  to  show 
an  example  of  coolness.  "  Think  I  care  for  Sophy?  " 

"Wai,  you're  like  the  dog  in  the  manger,  then,-— mad 
'cause  I  want  her,  though  you  don't  want  her  yourself.  I'd 
made  up  my  mind  to  leave  ye.  I've  stood  all  I  can.  But  I 
ain't  goin'  to  go  'thout  exposin'  ye,  by  darn  !  "  With  which 
mild  oath,  Abner  pulls  on  his  cap. 

"  Exposing  me  ?  exposing  me  ?  "     Pelt,  forgetful  that  he 


864  ABNER'S     LETTER. 

is  keeping  cool,  jumps  up  excitedly;  but  sits  clown  again,  and 
pares  his  nails.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Be  calm, 
be  calm,  my  young  friend,  and  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

''You've  robbed  Lucy  and  her  father;  you  took  that 
new  house  right  out  of  Arlyn's  pocket,  and  burnt  his  letters 
to  her,  and  kep'  from  her  where  his  address  was,  so  she 
couldn't  git  a  letter  to  him.  You  see,  I  know  all  about  it!  " 

"  You're  a  bigger  scoundrel  than  I  thought !  "  And  Pelt 
rises  rampant,  glaring  on  Abner.  "Been  prying  into  my 
private  affairs  ?  —  breaking  open  my  letters,  have  ye  ?  A 
state's  prison  job,  young  man ;  and,  if  you  don't  bring  up 
in  a  pair  of  trousers  with  one  blue  leg  and  one  red  one  'foro 
you  git  through,  it's  'cause  I'm  your  friend.  I  be  your  friend, 
Abner,  spite  of  every  thing.  I  was  thinking  only  yesterday 
of  taking  you  into  pardnerships,  and  giving  you  a  chance  for 
yourself.  As  for  t'other  matter,  you  don't  know  nothin'  about 
it.  If  Arlyn  has  confided  any  money  to  me,  he'll  find  it's 
much  better  invested  than  as  if  I'd  gi'n  it  to  Lucy  after  her 
disgrace,  and  had  her  give  it  to  Guy ;  as  of  course  she  would, 
and  had  him  put  it  into  the  money-diggings." 

This  is  a  new  view  of  things  to  Abner,  and  he  scratches  his 
head  over  it. 

"  But  who's  goin'  to  live  in  the  new  house  ?  "  he  wants  to 
know. 

"  Maybe  you  will,  if  you  behave  yourself,"  says  the  friendly 
Elphaz ;  "if  you  go  into  pardnerships  with  me,  make  money, 
and  marry  Sophy.  I  beg  of  ye,  don't  be  a  fool,  Abner.  You 


ABNER'S     LETTER.  365 

can't  hurt  me  none,  you  can  only  hurt  yourself,  and  make 
a  miserable  fuss,  by  blabbing.  Probably,"  adds  the  crafty 
one,  "  I  never  shall  marry,  myself;  and  if  Arlyn  don't  come 
back  (as  is  quite  probable) ,  why,  then,  you  may  as  well  have 
a  little  of  his  money  as  anybody  :  for  he  would  certainly 
disinherit  Lucy,  you  know ;  and  Sophy's  his  next  heir.  You 
see  it'll  all  come  right.  Only  be  discreet.  A  home  in  that 
house,  my  friend,  '11  be  a  good  deal  preferable  to  five  years 
in  state's  prison ;  ha,  ha !  "  — patting  him  significantly  on  the 
shoulder. 

Pelt  has  had  sufficient  experience  with  juries  to  know  by 
Abner's  look  that  he  has  closed  with  a  telling  argument  ]  and 
as  feet  just  now  mount  the  stairs,  and  the  latch  is  tried,  he  does 
not  hesitate  to  turn  the  key,  and  fling  open  the  door. 

Enter  Guy  Bannington. 

"Ha !  delighted  !  "  says  Pelt,  with  no  end  of  smiles  and 
flourishes,  —  light  waves  of  affability,  amid  which  Guy  stands 
unmoved  as  a  rock. 

"  Are  you  at  leisure  ?  "  he  asks,  with  a  glance  at  Abner. 

"  Always  at  leisure  to  serve  my  noble  friend.  Seddown ;  " 
placing  a  chair.  "You  know  Mr.  Roane,  my  confidential 
clerk,"  —  with  a  flattering  glance  at  Abner,  who  fawningly 
rubs  his  hands  and  wrinkles  up  his  face  in  consequence, 
"  Never  need  hesitate  to  open  your  business  before  him." 

Guy  wishes  the  red-head  away,  but  nevertheless  proceeds. 

"  Squire  Pelt,  I  want  some  money." 

"  Reasonable,  extremely  reasonable  :  some  folks  do,"  says 
the  facetious  lawyer. 


366  ABNER'S     LETTER. 

"  And  you,"  adds  Guy,  "  must  help  me  to  it." 

"Any  thing  in  my  power  —  most  happy  —  certainly,  my 
friend,"  jingles  the  metallic  voice.  "But  how  happens  it 
you  —  son  of  a  rich  and  liberal  father  "  — 

"  My  father  and  I  do  not  agree  on  certain  subjects," 
answers  Guy. 

"  Ah  !  is  it  possible  ?  You  allude  to  a  certain  young  lady? 
or  to  spiritualism,  maybe  ?  Colonel  B.  is  violent  on  that  sub 
ject,  I  allow :  and,  if  he  suspects  you  want  money  for  any 
object  connected  with  that," —  winking  slyly  at  Abner,  — "  he 
might  object;  rather  guess  he  would  object,  on  the  whole." 

"  But  I  have  a  little  property  of  my  own ;  a  farm,  you  re 
member." 

"  Ah,  yes !  the  colonel  did  give  you  the  Jacobs  Farm,  over 
the  mountain  :  I  recollect.  But  have  you  the  deed  of  it?  " 

"  The  deed,"  says  Guy  somewhat  anxiously  :  "  isn't  it  in 
your  hands?  " 

"  I  declare,  I  believe  it  is.  Locked  up  in  the  safe  there 
now,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Roane  ?  It  never  was  made  over  to  you, 
I  think." 

"  Pelt,"  —  Guy  comes  at  once  to  the  point,  —  "I  want 
to  raise  money  on  that  land,  by  sale  or  mortgage.  I  rely  on 
you  to  get  me  the  deed  of  it,  and  to  negotiate  the  loan." 

"  But  wouldn't  it  be  as  well  to  speak  to  the  colonel  about 
it  yourself?  "  Pelt  blandly  inquires. 

"  I  prefer  to  avoid  every  thing  that  may  lead  to  a  discus 
sion  of  unhappy  topics  with  my  father.  You  need  not  touch 


ABNER'S     LETTER.  367 

upon  them.  Say  to  him  simply,  that,  since  the  farm  is  mine, 
the  title  should  be  transferred ;  and  let  me  know  the  result 
at  once." 

"  I'll  do  so ;  and  no  doubt  my  mission  will  be  successful," 
answers  Pelt  in  the  most  cordial  manner.  "  Always  at  your 
service,  sir ;  your  most  obedient,  —  delighted  with  the  hon 
or,  —  good-day." 

Then,  as  soon  as  Guy  is  gone,  the  lawyer  throws  himself 
upon  a  chair,  rubs  his  face  up  and  down  with  both  hands 
as  if  washing  it  thoroughly  in  waters  of  glee,  and  strokes  his 
foretop  back  with  immense  content. 

' '  The  upstart !  Did  you  see  how  confounded  independent 
he  was?  But  I'll  fix  him  !  I've  been  expecting  him  here 
about  that  very  deed.  Oh,  I'll  play  with  him  as  you  would 
with  a  trout,  Abner,  that  you've  got  well  hooked  !  " 

Abner,  who  likewise  cherishes  a  grudge  against  Guy  for 
taking  Lucy  away  from  him,  grins  attention  while  Pelt  unfolds 
his  plan.  In  haste  to  put  it  into  execution,  the  lawyer  claps 
on  his  hat,  and,  just  as  he  is  going,  gives  red-head  his  hand. 
"It's  all  right  between  us,  Abner?  " 

Resistless  Pelt !  credulous,  confiding,  flattered  Abner !  — 
behold  them  amicably  shaking  hands  ! 

"  And  the  letter?  "  says  Elphaz. 

Abner  strikes  a  match,  and  burns  the  "  dockeinunt "  on  the 
spot. 

"  T'other  one,  —  in  the  hands  of  the  responsible  party  ?  " 
queries  the  lawyer. 


ABNER'S     LETTER. 

Abner  smilingly  takes  it  from  his  pocket. 

"Ah,  you  rogue!"  laughs  Pelt  approvingly.  "You 
haven't  been  two  years  in  my  office  for  nothing,  you  sly  dog ! 
You've  learnt  a  thing  or  two.  There's  no  other  letter  ?  and 
nobody  knows  what  you  know  ?  " 

Abner  takes  his  oath  of  it,  and  returns  the  letter  to  his 
pocket. 

"No,  no!     Burn  it,  Abner." 

"  And  about  the  pardnership  ?  "  —  Roane  desires  to  know, 
still  holding  on  to  the  letter. 

"  Oh  !  we'll  arrange  that.  By  the  way,  you  need  a  new 
coat.  Here  —  here's  twenty  dollars,  my  boy,  from  the  hand 
of  the  best  friend  you've  got  in  the  world  !  " — earnestly,  with 
tears  in  the  legal  eyes. 

Abner  is  overcome ;  whether  by  the  tears,  or  by  the  "  XX," 
is  a  question.  And  the  "  t'other  "  letter  is  burned  also. 
And  Pelt,  having  given  red-head's  hand  a  final  affecting 
squeeze,  departs  on  his  mission,  with  one  eye  intent  on  cir 
cumventing  Guy,  and  the  other  glassily  looking  to  see 
how  that  rascal  Roane  is  to  be  cut  off  in  his  sins,  and 
silenced. 


GUT    IS     LEFT     ALONE.  369 


XXXII. 

GUT  IS  LEFT  ALONE. 

T  is  with  eventful  epochs  that  history  has  most  to 
do.  But  there  are  others,  equally  momentous, 
concerning  which  not  much  can  ever  be  told.  These 
are  the  seasons  of  silence  and  ripening  which  precede  the  fall 
of  the  fruit ;  when  noiseless  Nature,  and  the  mysterious  provi 
dence  of  God,  perfect,  by  interior  process,  the  slow,  subtle, 
certain  change,  which  is  the  real  event,  whereof  the  final  ca 
tastrophe  that  astonishes  the  insect  on  the  apple  —  the  human 
insect  on  the  world-apple  —  is  but  the  sounding  sequel. 

It  is  so  with  nations  reddening  on  the  boughs  of  the  ages. 
So  with  the  nameless  unwritten  tragedies  of  our  friends  and 
neighbors  which  drop  daily  from  the  tree  of  life  into  oblivion. 
Even  so  with  this  humble  story,  which  also  has  its  final  days 
of  calm  ripening,  —  the  prelude  to  the  end. 

Days  concerning  which  little  can  be  said.     The  work  of 

the  miners  goes  uniformly  forward,  inch  by  inch,  with  no 

result  amazing  to  the  world  as  yet.     The  men  continue  to 

smile  at  human  credulity,  and  pocket  their  pay,  or  rather 

24 


370  GUT     IS     LEFT     ALONE. 

the  promises  of  pay  (for  it  has  come  to  that),  which  they 
accept,  albeit  unwillingly,  trusting  to  the  honor  of  the  chief. 
All  have  relied  upon  Guy  from  the  first ;  and  now  Guy, 
learning  from  grievous  experience,  relies  upon  himself.  There 
is  a  certain  greatness  about  the  fellow  since  the  directors  left 
him  to  bear  alone  the  burden  which  all  were  pledged  to  bear. 
In  faith  and  in  action,  he  never  once  falters;  carrying  out 
his  logic  to  a  stern  conclusion. 

Mr.  Murk,  the  philanthropist,  is  phlegmatic  as  ever:  a  dull, 
imperturbable,  determined  man,  who  thinks  much  at  all  times 
that  he  does  not  speak,  and  especially  at  this  time.  Mad's  fiery 
temper  continues  repressed,  —  a  volcano,  so  to  speak,  with 
Christina's  thumb  over  the  vent.  Christina  herself  is  strange 
ly  quiet,  strangely  abstracted ;  sometimes  sitting  half  the  day 
gazing  at  Guy  with  those  wonderful  eyes  of  hers ;  all  action 
seeming  withdrawn  into  her  burning  soul.  And  Biddikin 
builds  castles  in  the  dim  air  of  the  future.  And  Lucy  loves 
her  babe,  and  forgets  to  be  lonely.  And  Archy  goes  on  with 
his  corn-sheller,  under  impression.  And  Pelt  is  pretty  well : 
he  thanks  you  with  glimmering  suavity.  And  Colonel  Ban- 
nington  finds  himself  better  this  spring  than  he  has  been  for 
a  year ;  hopes,  indeed,  that  he  is  going  to  recover  his  legs.  And 
the  end  is  near. 

It  is  Saturday,  late  in  May ;  and  the  tree  begins  to  rustle. 
The  first  leaf  is  blown  to  Abner's  hand ;  the  first  breath  of 
the  commotion  touches  his  cheek,  and  blanches  it. 

The  said  leaf  comes  whirling  down  the  avenue  of  Fate  called 


GUT     IS     LEFT    ALONE.  371 

the  post-office.  It  is,  in  fact,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
letter,  addressed  to  Elphaz,  bearing  a  startling  postmark,  and 
a  most  startling  postscript  roughly  scrawled  on  the  envelope. 

A  crash  is  coming,  and  it  behooves  red-head  to  stand  from 
under.  Indeed,  what  fealty  does  he  owe  to  Pelt  ?  The  prom 
ised  partnership  does  not  come  to  any  thing,  and  he  has  reason 
to  suspect  that  Elphaz  is  fooling  him.  In  that  case,  his  busi 
ness  is  to  take  care  of  himself.  Accordingly,  he  locks  the 
letter  in  a  drawer,  and,  still  pale  with  his  agitation,  hastens  to 
call  on  Lucy. 

Guy  is  on  the  mountain.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  he  may  be 
seen  issuing  from  the  shaft  with  a  troubled  countenance.  No 
treasure  yet,  and  no  signs  of  any.  In  an  hour,  the  miners 
will  finish  their  week's  work.  Upon  the  events  of  that  hour 
much  depends.  Murk  is  confident,  that,  at  the  last  moment, 
the  hoards  of  the  Spaniards  will  be  laid  open.  But  Guy  is 
in  doubt.  Only  one  thing  is  certain, —  the  workmen  will  de 
mand  their  wages.  He  has  promised  to  pay  up  all  arrears  to 
night.  This  he  hoped  to  do  with  Spanish  coin ;  but,  that  there 
might  be  no  mistake  in  the  matter,  he  instructed  Lawyer  Pelt 
to  use  all  diligence  in  raising  money  on  the  land  placed  at  his 
disposal.  Pelt  engaged  that  this  business  should  be  satisfac 
torily  accomplished  early  in  the  week,  —  certainly  before  Sat 
urday  ;  yet  Saturday  is  now  drawing  to  a  close,  and  he  has 
nothing  for  Guy  but  excuses,  and  a  promise,  that,  on  Monday 
or  Tuesday  next,  the  farm  shall  positively  be  sold,  and  the 
price  paid.  And  Guy,  unsuspicious  of  Pelt,  is  now  consid- 


372  GUY     IS     LEFT    ALONE. 

ering  whether,  on  the  strength  of  this  promise,  the  miners  can 
be  put  off,  and  induced  to  continue  the  work  another  week. 
IT  MUST  BE  so.  His  will  decides  it.  The  work  SHALL  go 
on.  He  cannot  donbt  but  another  week  will  surely  see  the 
silver-mine  opened  ;  and  now  it  seems  to  him  that  the  invisi 
bles  should  have  some  definite  prophecy  to  make  for  his  com 
fort  and  guidance. 

Anxiously  wishing  this,  he  approached  a  ledge  where 
Christina  sat,  and  questioned  her. 

"  I  can  only  speak  what  is  given  me  to  speak,"  she  said, 
with  manifest  aversion  to  the  subject.  "  There's  no  use  in 
trying  to  force  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  —  with  a  quick  sigh, 
her  brows  knitting. 

Guy  was  disappointed,  even  pained.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  work,  inspiration  had  been  poured  through  her  lips 
whenever  he  desired  it ;  but  now  it  seemed  as  if  even  his 
spiritual  guides  were  forsaking  him.  "Why  will  they  not 
encourage  me  with  one  word  ?  Hasn't  my  faith  been  suffici 
ently  tried  ?  Don't  I  need  the  wisdom  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  fault !  "  exclaimed  Christina  despairingly.  "  I 
haven't  dared  to  tell  you ;  but  I  fear  I  am  loosing  my  medium- 
ship.  When  have  I  given  any  evidence  that  I  still  possess 
it?" 

"Every  day,"  said  Guy.  "There  is  that  laughing 
hyena,"  —  with  a  glance  over  the  rocks  at  Mad  :  "  you  have 
made  a  lamb  of  him,  and  you  keep  him  so." 

"  That's  a  woman's  gift.     I  never  yet  saw  the  man  I 


GUY     IS     LEFT     ALONE.  373 

couldn't  influence,"  —  her  soul  flashed  out  upon  him  in  one 
swift  searching  look,  then  her  eyes  fell, —  "  except  one." 

"Who  was  that?" 

"  Guy  Bannington." 

"  What !  are  you  ambitious  of  any  power  over  me  which 
you  haven't  already  ?  " 

Her  foot  tapped  the  ledge  restlessly,  and  her  fingers  tore 
the  lichens.  He  watched  her  curiously. 

"  Go  away  !  "  she  said  impatiently.  "I  want  to  be  alone. 
What  right  have  you  to  intrude  upon  my  private  thoughts?  " 

"None,"  answered  Guy,  surprised  and  hurt.  "I  beg 
your  pardon,"  —  going. 

"  You  are  angry  now  because  you  can't  control  me  as  you 
do  everybody  else,"  she  said.  "  I'm  not  one  of  your  weak, 
passive,  negative  women, —  creatures  called  women.  I  am  an 
individual,  —  as  much  an  individual  as  you  are." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Guy;  "  and  —  God  knows —  I  have 
no  wish  to  control  you  or  any  one.  To  be  an  individual  is  — 
to  control  one's  self." 

"  Which  you  do,  and  which  I  do  not,"  muttered  Christina, 
following  him  with  intense  eyes  ;  more  than  ever  his  worshipper 
at  that  moment ;  more  than  ever  dissatisfied  with  her  own  rest 
less,  perverse  heart. 

He  was  moving  away,  lonely  and  sorrowful,  when  Biddikin 
popped  up  like  a  monkey  in  his  path.  Guy,  tall  and  austere, 
looked  down  inquiringly  at  the  grimacing  little  doctor. 

"  Don't  let  me  disturb  your  meditations,"  squeaked  the 


374  GUY     IS     LEFT     ALONE. 

manikin.  "  But  —  you  must  be  aware  —  my  pension  is  five 
weeks  in  arrears ;  and  I  suppose  I  must  look  to  you  for  it." 

"Yes:  everybody  looks  to  me  for  what  I  haven't  got. 
But  couldn't  you  forbear  a  little  longer?" 

Biddikin  flirted  his  head,  shaking  off  the  question  as  a  duck 
does  water,  and  obstinately  compressing  his  lean,  dogmatic 
lips. 

"  I  can  only  say  my  pension  is  due,  and  must  be  paid.  In 
case  you  refuse,  the  terms  of  my  agreement  with  the  associa 
tion  are  cancelled,  and  the  treasure  reverts  to  me." 

Guy  smiled.  "  Take  it,  my  friend,  and  welcome  !  Pay 
off  these  men,  and  I  will  gladly  leave  it  in  your  hands.  But 
seriously,  doctor,  you  are  just  as  much  required  to  furnish 
funds  as  I  am.  I  never  engaged  to  contribute  a  dollar.  But 
I  have  given  many  dollars ;  while  all  the  expenses  of  your 
house  have  been  paid  by  the  association.  I  have  been  hard 
at  work ;  while  you  have  been  walking  about  in  your  fine 
clothes,  fancying  yourself  a  gentleman.  Now,  if  your  pension 
must  be  paid,"  — 

"  Well,  sir !  well,  sir  !  "  spluttered  Biddikin. 

"  Why,  man,  you  are  just  as  much  responsible  for  the 
payment  of  it  as  I  am." 

"  I  don't  see  it  so,  I  don't  see  it  so,"  smirked  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  no  matter,"  said  Guy.  "  You  shall  be  paid  next 
week." 

"  Ah  !  if  you  say  so,  I  am  satisfied.  Next  week.  Thank 
you.  Fine  evening  ;  beautiful  sunset ;  "  and,  with  his  gen 
teel  flourish,  Biddikin  passed  on. 


GUT     IS     LEFT     ALONE.  375 

"Are  you  sure  of  the  money?  "  asked  Jehiel,  who  was 
near. 

"  I  have  Pelt's  word  for  it.  He  has  found  a  purchaser  for 
the  farm,  —  a  Dutchman,  whose  gold  we  shall  have  the  pleas 
ure  of  handling  by  Tuesday  at  the  latest." 

Jehiel's  face  brightened.  "  That's  good  news.  To  tell 
the  honest  truth,  I'm  in  want  of  money." 

"  It  is  too  bad,  Jehiel !  You  have  come  up  here  to  work 
out  of  pure  friendship  for  me,  and  I've  never  paid  you  a  dol 
lar.  And  there  is  Lucy's  board  since  January." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it.  You  know  there's  nothing  I  wouldn't 
do  for  you." 

Guy  pressed  his  hand.  "  You  sha'n't  suffer  for  it.  The 
first  of  the  Dutchman's  gold  shall  go  to  you.  If  I  live,  you 
shall  be  paid." 

Jehiel  thanked  him  with  emotion.  And  now  the  miners, 
breaking  off  work,  put  on  their  coats,  and  got  their  tools  to 
gether.  Guy  knew  what  was  coming.  To  be  obliged  to 
withhold  the  wages  of  these  honest  laborers  humiliated  and 
distressed  him. 

"  I  know  what  you  expect  of  me,  my  men,"  he  said ; 
"  and,  if  others  had  kept  their  promises  to  me,  I  should  be  able 
now  to  keep  mine  to  you.  But  we  must  learn  patience." 

"All  these  difficulties  are  necessary  for  us,  or  they  would 
not  be,"  observed  Mr.  Murk  with  a  dull  complacent  smile. 

The  countenances  of  the  men  looked  gloomy.  The  reform 
er's  philosophy  did  not  enliven  them.  Guy  motioned  him  to 
be  silent. 


376  GUY     IS     LEFT     ALONE, 

"  I  have  sold  a  piece  of  land,  for  which  I  should  have  re 
ceived  upwards  of  two  thousand  dollars  this  day.  Now,  there 
is  no  doubt  whatever  but  I  shall  have  this  money  on  Tuesday ; 
and  Wednesday,  my  men,  shall  see  every  one  of  you  paid. 
In  the  mean  time,  you  must  not  go  home  quite  penniless. 
You  will  know  how  anxious  I  am  to  deal  justly,  when  I  tell 
you  this  money"  —  giving  one  of  them  a  sum  to  divide 
—  "is,  as  I  may  say,  the  blood  of  my  best  friends  ;  in  other 
words,  the  price  of  my  poor  dogs." 

The  frank  and  feeling  manner  in  which  he  addressed  them 
was  fast  winning  their  entire  confidence  and  sympathy.  The 
man  to  whom  he  gave  the  money  looked  at  it  as  if  he  really 
did  not  like  to  take  it. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  had  to  part  with  your  dogs,  sir.  You 
seem  to  be  very  fond  of  dogs." 

"  I  like  them  so  well,"  said  Guy,  "  that,  if  I  was  able,  I 
would  keep  as  many  as  Actaeon  had." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  I  guess  I  don't  know  the  gentleman,"  said 
the  miner.  "  Had  he  many  animals  ?" 

"  Fifty  noble  fellows  !  There  was  Lightfoot,  and  Quick- 
scent,  and  Whirlwind,  and  Racer,  and  Kill-deer,  and  Bouncer, 
and  more  names  which  I  can't  translate ;  for  Actseon  lived 
ever  so  long  ago,  and  his  dogs'  titles  are  all  Greek." 

Then  Guy,  seeing  the  men  interested,  proceeded  to  relate 
how  Actseon,  chancing  to  discover  Diana  at  her  bath,  was 
transformed  by  her  into  a  stag,  and  hunted  down  by  his  own 
hounds.  His  humorous  and  familiar  version  of  the  classic 
myth  charmed  his  rude  hearers.  "  And  remember,"  he  add- 


GUT     IS     LEFT     ALONE.  377 

ed,  "  the  story,  strange  as  it  sounds,  is  true.  Actseon  is  the 
man  whom  the  sight  of  female  beauty  plunges  into  sensuality, 
—  changes  into  a  beast ;  and  the  dogs  are  his  own  passions 
that  devour  him." 

With  this  pleasing  moral  he  dismissed  them ;  and  all  were 
so  captivated  by  his  affability,  that  they  forgot  to  grumble 
about  their  wages,  and  readily  agreed  to  return,  and  resume 
their  work  on  Monday. 

And  now  all  were  gone  but  Christina  and  Guy.  Sh« 
remained  seated  on  the  ledge ;  and  he,  unwilling  to  disturb 
her  or  to  leave  her  quite  alone,  walked  to  the  verge  of  the 
cliff,  where  he  waited. 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  the  sea  of  mountains.  The 
peaks  all  around  were  illumined  with  soft  glorious  light. 
The  wide  green  valley  darkened  with  shadow,  —  solemn, 
calm,  and  cool ;  the  hemlocks  gloomed  black  and  melancholy ; 
and  the  last  faintly  gilding  rays  were  fading  from  the  crags. 

"  So  ends  another  week  !  "  thought  Guy.  Inexpressible 
sadness  came  over  him  as  he  pondered  and  questioned  the 
future,  and  thought  of  his  false  friends,  and  bitterly  asked 
himself  whether  they  were  less  faithful,  or  only  less  foolish, 
than  himself. 

"  Look  !  "  said  a  voice  at  his  side.  "  How  richly  old 
Mount  Solomon  takes  the  sunset  in  the  folds  and  creases  of 
his  velvet  mantle  !  " 

Instead  of  regarding  the  mountain,  Guy  looked  at  her; 
for  it  was  Christina. 


378  GUY     IS     LEFT     ALONE. 

"Is  my  privacy  any  less  sacred  than  yours?  "  he  asked 
•with  a  smile. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder 
with  the  nestling  fondness  of  a  tired  and  penitent  child.  He 
paid  no  attention  to  her.  She  waited  a  long  time  ;  then  sud 
denly  pressed  her  lips  to  his  arm,  and  bit  it. 

"  I  hate  you  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  and,  flinging  herself  from 
him,  sat  down  apart,  behind  the  parapet  of  the  ledge. 

He  went  to  her,  and  took  her  hand.     She  was  shivering. 

"  You  are  ill,"  he  said  gently. 

"  I  am  cold.     I  am  chilled  to  the  heart !  " 

"But  you  don't  hate  me,  Christina?  You  will  let  me 
warm  you?  " 

He  sat  down  by  her  side.  He  put  his  arms  about  her. 
A  strange  spasm,  half  pleasure  and  half  pain,  swept  over  her. 
He  took  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  and  smoothed  her  temples. 
Then  she  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  You  treat  me  as  if  I  was  a  child." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I,  when  you  act  like  a  child  ?  "  But  his 
voice  was  tremulous ;  for  he  felt  that  not  a  child,  but  a  wo 
man  who  loved  him,  was  palpitating  on  his  heart. 

"  You  are  so  undemonstrative,  so  tantalizingly  dignified, 
you  exasperate  me  !  But  you  can  thaw,  can't  you?  "  she 
said,  pouring  all  her  fascinations  into  the  smile  with  which 
she  looked  up  from  his  breast.  "Say,  do  you  really  love 
Lucy?" 

"  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  Lucy  now,"  he  vaguely  an- 


GUY     IS     LEFT     ALONE.  379 

swered,  feeling  the  subtle  temptation  creep  through  his  veins ; 
and  he  folded  her  closer. 

"  No  !  "  she  responded  :  "  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  any 
body  now.  We  belong  to  each  other :  don't  you  feel  we 
do  ?  Oh,  you  warm  me  now  !  You  love  me  !  —  don't  deny 
it.  You  will  kill  me  if  you  are  not  good  to  me  !  I  am  wear 
ing  my  life  out  loving  you,  and  you  know  it ;  and,  0 
Heaven  !  what  happiness  it  might  be  !  " 

To  stay  the  fiery  flood  which  was  sweeping  him  away,  Guy 
answered,  — 

"  You  have  loved  just  so  before,  haven't  you?  " 

"  I  thought  I  loved  "  — 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

"  You  will  hate  me  if  I  do  !  " 

"  Then  haste  and  tell  me  !  "  for  he  felt  that  to  hate  her 
might  save  them  both.  Yet  he  spoke  with  tenderest  playful 
ness,  and  with  passion  in  his  eyes. 

"I  had  a  friend,"  she  said  after  a  pause,  —  "Matilda. 
She  had  a  lover,  —  Charles.  They  were  bethrothed.  Ma 
tilda  was  absent,  and  —  I  saw  Charles.  As  he  was  the 
only  man  who  did  not  show  a  disgusting  tendency  to  fling 
himself  at  my  feet,  why,  he  was  the  only  man  I  cared  for. 
I  determined  to  win  him  ;  and  I  did.  I  pitied  Matilda ;  but 
—  I  believed  he  belonged  to  me,  and  not  to  her.  I  was  a 
woman  :  I  triumphed.  We  were  married.  Then  Matilda, 
broken-hearted,  came  home  to  die.  Charles  grew  restless. 
I  saw  that  he  was  unhappy.  I  knew  then  that  he  did  not 


GUT    IS     LEFT    ALONE. 


love  me  ;  that  I  had  won  him  by  my  power  only :  I  had  mag 
netized  him  away  from  Matilda.  Oh  !  "  said  Christina  with 
a  shudder,  "  it  has  been  the  phantom  of  my  life.  They  saw 
each  other,  —  passed  some  terrible  hours  together  :  he  never 
came  back  to  me.  He  went  to  a  hotel,  locked  himself  in  a 
room,  wrote  me  a  letter,  and  shot  himself.  Then  she  died  ; 
and  I  had  murdered  them  both  !  Isn't  that  a  pretty  story?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  Guy.     His  countenance  was  rigid. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Don't  look  so  !  for 
Heaven's  sake,  don't !  Have  I  horrified  you  ?  " 

"  You  never  spoke  truer  words  !  " 

"Which?  — when?" 

"  There  is  a  magnetism  of  the  senses  which  men  fatally 
mistake  for  love  !  God  forgive  me  !  " 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  "  she  cried, 
shrinking  from  him,  alarmed  at  his  strange  aspect. 

"Would  you  act  your  tragedy  over  again?"  he  said. 
"You  are  a  woman  of  great  power ;  but  do  you  know  what  has 
attracted  me  to  you?  what  has  won,  and  will  always  retain, 
my  love  and  •  admiration  ?  Your  spiritual  gifts,  Christina. 
Only  these,  my  sister.  And,  if  I  have  had  for  you  a  feeling 
which  a  brother  might  not  have,  so  far  I  have  sinned.  There 
is  one  I  love,  as  a  true  man  loves  but  one.  Spite  of  all  our 
differences,  I  love  Lucy  with  my  whole  heart,  —  with  my  en 
tire  manhood  ;  and,  before  Heaven,  she  is  my  wife." 

Oh,  could  Lucy  have  heard  him  then !  and  could  Christina 
not  have  heard  him  ! 


GUY    IS     LEFT     ALONE.  381 

She  was  paralyzed.  She  slid  from  his  side  like  one  dead. 
She  lay  upon  the  cold  crag,  —  an  instant  only ;  then  she 
slowly  arose,  pushed  back  her  hair,  smiled  a  glassy  smile, 
and  said  "  Good-by  ! "  with  that  frightful  lightness  of  tone 
which  is  more  tragical  than  the  wildest  lamentation. 

"  Christina !  "  called  Guy,  extending  his  hand  to  her. 

But  she  was  gone. 


382       ABNER  PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS. 


xxxin. 

ABNER  PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS. 

E  was  hastening  to  overtake  her,  when  a  person 
who  had  been  searching  for  him  on  the  summit 
ran  down  across  the  rocks,  and  intercepted  him. 
The  said  person  had  a  fawning  manner,  and  exceedingly  red 
hair. 

"  Hope  I  don't  interrupt  any  thing,"  he  said,  standing 
immediately  in  Guy's  way. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  demanded  Guy,  tempted  to  kick 
him  from  his  path. 

"  I  have  been  to  call  on  Miss  Lucy  Arlyn;  and,  at  her 
request,"  —  red-head  rubbed  his  freckled  hands,  —  "I  have 
come  to  make  some  very  important  statements  to  you." 

"  What  business  have  you  with  Lucy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  jealous,  needn't  be  jealous,  I  —  I  as 
sure  you !  "  simpered  Abner.  "  Purely  professional,  I  pro 
test.  She  is  a  wronged,  a  deeply  injured  woman ;  which  I 
very  much  regret  that  it  is  the  case." 

Guy's  brows  blackened  formidably.  "  What  does  the 
meddling  fool  mean  ?  "  his  look  said. 


ABNER   PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSON'S.      383 

"  Oh,  no  implication  against  you,  sir  !  "  —  Roane  hastened 
to  explain,  —  "  but  one  which  you  wouldn't  suspect,  — one 
which  is  a  villain  of  the  most  hardened  specie  :  I  mean  "  — 
with  theatrical  emphasis — * '  Squire  Elphaz  Pelt !  ' '  And  he 
went  on  to  specify  villanies.  Guy  regarded  him  searchingly. 

"  These  are  serious  charges,  Abner." 

"  I  guess  I  know  enough  of  law  to  know  that  they  be  seri 
ous  charges ;  and  there's  another,  which  concerns  you,  and 
which  you  will  be  surprised  !  About  the  farm.  Pelt  ia 
hoaxing  ye." 

"  Hoaxing  —  me  ?     He  dares  not !  " 

"The  man  which  da's  to  rob  and  burn  letters,  da's  do 
a'most  any  thing.  He  has  a  spite  against  you,  for  some 
reason  ;  and,  when  he  found  you  wanted  to  realize  money  on 
that  estate,  he  said  he  meant  to  play  with  you  as  I  would  with 
a  trout  I'd  got  well  hooked,  — his  very  words." 

Guy  turned  pale.  All  this  he  had  secretly  felt  in  his 
heart,  as  one  often  feels  intuitively  the  truth  of  a  thing  which 
the  will  and  understanding  refuse  to  acknowledge.  But  now 
the  hidden  bud  of  suspicion,  blown  upon  by  this  breath  of 
Abner's,  blossomed  openly  into  conviction. 

"  But  the  farm  is  to  be  sold  :  how  is  that  ?  " 

"  The  colonel,  'stead  of  conveying  over  the  deed  to  you, 
just  gives  Pelt  the  power  of  attorney;  and  he's  going  to  sell, 
and  leave  you  to  think  you're  to  have  the  money  till  he  gits 
it :  then  the  colonel  is  going  to  conclude  you  can't  have  it  for 
any  such  purpose  which  you  want  it  for ;  for  if  there's  any 


384       ABNER   PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS. 

thing  the  colonel  hates,  next  to  Ben  Arlyn,  it's  spiritualism 
and  spiritualists,  I  s'pose  you  know." 

White  and  astounded  stood  Guy.  The  absolute  necessity 
of  the  money ;  his  honor  pledged ;  the  malignity  of  the 
fraud  ;  not  himself  only,  but  honest  poor  men  and  their  fami 
lies,  to  be  the  victims  of  it,  —  all  this  throbbed  in  his  brain  ; 
and  his  fingers  knotted  up,  as  if  already  they  clutched  the 
lawyer's  neckcloth. 

"  Come  with  me  !  " 

"Where?     What  for  ?" 

"  To* confront  Pelt." 

Abner  looked  scared.  "  I  have  to  request  that  you 
shouldn't  mention  my  name  in  this  affair  for  a  day  or  two. 
He  has  threatened  me." 

"  No  matter  if  he  has,"  Guy  laughed  cruelly. 

' '  What ! ' '  — Roane  stared  aghast,  — ' '  you  consider  my  life 
of  no  value?  " 

"What's  animal  existence?  Look  at  Pelt!  There's 
plenty  of  such  vermin  infesting  the  earth.  I'll  rake  this  vil- 
lany  to  the  bottom,  though  in  doing  it  I  dig  a  pit  for  you 
both  ! " 

Guy  hurried  down  the  mountain.  Abner  regarded  him 
with  awe  and  terror ;  walking  behind  him  down  the  steep, 
crooked  path,  through  the  darkening  woods,  in  silence,  with 
dreadful  forebodings,  and  wishing  he  hadn't  meddled. 

They  reached  Biddikin's.  There  Guy  had  left  his  horse ; 
but  it  was  gone. 


ABNER   PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS.      385 

"She  took  it,"  said  Mad. 

"Who?     Christina?" 

"Yes.  She  tumbled  out  her  things,  piled  'em  into  the 
buggy,  got  Murk  by  the  nose,  and  off  they  drove,  not  three 
minutes  ago." 

"  We  must  walk,  then,"  said  Guy. 

His  vigorous  strides  put  Roane's  legs  to  a  severe  test,  and 
gave  him  an  excruciating  side-ache. 

"Slack  up  a  little;  I  can't  stand  it!"  he  wheezed. 
"  'Tain't  probable  we  shall  find  him  to  the  office  ;  "  at  least, 
Abner  hoped  so.  ;;•• 

"  We'll  find  him  somewhere,"  said  Guy. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  need  to  drag  me  in,"  whined  red 
head.  ' '  I  thought  I  was  doing  you  a  favor ;  and  now  you  act 
as  if /was  to  blame,  somehow." 

"And  so  you  are.  You  have  known  of  Pelt's  villanies 
for  months,  and  made  yourself  responsible  by  concealing 
them." 

"  I  know  enough  of  the  law  to  know  it's  dangerous  to  med 
dle  in  such  cases :  so  I  kep'  still,  not  being  quite  sure  Pelt 
was  a  villain." 

"  And  what  makes  you  sure  now  ?  " 

"If  you'll  promise  not  to  drag  me  in,  I'll  tell  you.  I'll 
give  you  all  the  proof  you  want.  I'm  in  his  confidence,  and 
I  can  be  of  great  use  to  you  if  I  keep  so.  I  can  inform  you 
of  all  his  plans,  and  help  a  great  deal  more  than  if  you  expose 
me  to  him." 

25 


386       ABNER   PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS. 

"  If  you  are  faithful  to  me,  you  sha'n't  suffer  :  that's  all  I 
can  promise.  I  am  to  circumvent  a  traitor ;  and  I  shall  act 
as  exigencies  may  require." 

It  was  quite  dark  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the  office. 

"  There's  no  light  there,"  said  Abner.  "  We'll  go  in  ; 
and  if  you'll  remember  your  promise,  that  I  sha'n't  suffer,  I'll 
give  you  proofs,  and  help  you  put  this  business  through,  right 
up  to  the  handle." 

"  In,  then!  "  said  Guy. 

They  mounted  the  stairs.  Abner  unlocked  the  office-door, 
lighted  a  candle,  and  sat  down  to  breathe. 

"  To  business  !  "  said  Guy,  standing  with  the  sallow  glare 
of  the  candle  on  his  determined  face ;  and  he  tapped  the  table 
impatiently. 

Then  Koane  reluctantly  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  took  out 
a  letter,  which  he  passed  to  Guy  with  one  hand,  pushing  the 
candle  towards  him  across  the  table  with  the  other. 

"  You  see,  he's  in  New  York,  and  will  be  here  next  week. 
The  other  letters  was  in  the  same  handwriting;  and  them  ini 
tials,  '  13.  A.,'  is  what  has  convinced  me  they  was  from  Ar- 
lyn,  and  not  from  Joe  Prince,  as  Pelt  pretended." 

As  red-head  spoke,  he  watched  Guy's  countenance,  which 
grew  sweaty  and  perturbed  over  the  unopened  letter :  red 
head  could  guess  why. 

Guy  sat  down,  wiped  his  forehead,  and  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

4 'Did  you  tell  Lucy?" 


ABNER   PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS.       387 

"  I  thought  it  might  be  too  much  of  a  shock  for  her  to 
know  all  at  once,"  fawned  Abner. 

"  And  you  were  afraid  of  shocking  me  too?  " 

"  Wai,  no ;  though  I  didn't  know  but  it  would  be  a  leetle 
agitating  for  you  to  hear  her  father  was  coming  so  sudden." 

Guy's  silence  was  so  portentous,  and  his  brows  gloomed  so 
sultry  and  thunderous,  that  Roane  was  sorry  he  had  said  that, 
and  began  to  compute  the  distance  to  the  ground  from  the 
window  behind  him. 

"  What  do  you  say  confirmed  your  suspicions  of  Pelt?" 
asked  Guy. 

"  Them  initials  —  in  the  same  handwriting  as  the  other 
letters —  that  convinced  me  !  " 

Guy  struck  the  table  with  his  clinched  hand. 

"  Let  me  say  what  convinced  you!  The  speedy  coming 
of  Ben  Arlyn  to  right  his  wrongs  convinced  you.  You  were 
leagued  with  Pelt  when  it  was  for  your  interest  to  be ;  but  now 
you  see  it  is  safer  to  come  over  to  the  other  side.  You  meant 
to  keep  back  from  us  this  letter,  in  order  to  disguise  your  mo 
tive  for  changing." 

Roane 's  features  writhed  in  the  candlelight,  as  if  groping 
for  the  grin  they  had  been  startled  into  dropping,  and  couldn't 
find  again,  and  couldn't  be  easy  till  they  did. 

' '  You  seem  to  think  you  can  read  a  man's  motives  better'n 
a  man  can  himself,"  he  said,  sending  the  freckled  fingers  to 
assist  in  fixing  the  grin  in  place. 

"  I  can  read  them  better  than  you  dare  read  them  aloud. 


ABNER  PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS. 


As  long  as  Arlyn  was  away,  you  didn't  see  clearly  how  you 
were  to  share  Pelt's  plunder,  except  by  making  terms  with 
him.  But  Arlyn's  return  changes  all  that.  He  is  Sophy's 
uncle.  You  expect  to  marry  Sophy.  He  is  well  off  now, 
and  will  probably  give  her  a  handsome  dowry  if  she  chooses 
a  man  faithful  to  the  family  interests,  but  not  if  she  takes  a 
rascal  in  league  with  the  enemy.  You  weighed  all  that  with 
the  cunning  of  a  half-fledged  lawyer.  That  sent  you  to  Lucy, 
then  to  me.  So  far  I  read  pretty  well,  don't  I  ?  " 

The  features  twisted  terribly,  and  the  fingers  helped  ;  but 
it  was  utterly  impossible  to  get  the  poor  scattered  grin  into 
respectable  shape  again  as  long  as  the  eyes  opposite  pierced 
through  and  through  every  thing  so. 

"  Now  mark  me,"  said  Guy.  "  Tell  all  you  know  of 
Pelt's  perfidy  and  your  own,  from  first  to  last,  and  you  are 
safe ;  but  keep  back  one  word  that  will  be  of  service  to  me 
or  to  Lucy,  and  down  you  go  in  the  whirlpool  which  is  at  this 
moment  sucking  Pelt  to  destruction.  Decide  quickly!  " 

Abner,  after  much  suffering  and  struggle,  decided  to  speak ; 
and,  having  commenced,  he  found  that,  though  a  law-student, 
he  was  no  match  for  Guy's  powerful  and  searching  cross- 
questionings.  These  drew  from  him  an  acknowledgment  of 
his  first  important  discovery,  when  he  oponed  the  express 
company's  letter  containing  the  notification  to  Pelt  that 
Arlyn's  assignment  awaited  his  order. 

"  That  must  have  been  about  the  time  you  offered  yourself 
to  Lucy." 


ABNER  PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS.       389 

Koane  was  forced  to  admit  that  it  was  about  that  time. 

"  But  of  course,"  said  Guy,  "  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
your  wishing  to  marry  her ;  and  your  long  silence  on  a  sub 
ject  of  such  importance  to  her  was  not  occasioned  by  chagrin 
at  your  rejection." 

"I  wan't  oUeeged  to  commit  myself  and  injure  my  prospects 
here,  was  I  ?  "  — rubbing  the  bloodless  hands. 

"  And  how  much  did  Pelt  give  you  to  hold  your  tongue  ?  " 

"Never  a  cent!  " 

"  Take  care,  young  man!  "  Guy  shook  his  warning  fin 
ger. 

' '  Wai  —  I  own  —  he  did  give  me  twenty  dollars  :  that 
was  for  some  new  clo'es,  though,  'cause  he  had  tore  my  collar 
in  a  squabble." 

Guy  leaned  his  chin  upon  his  clinched  hand.  He  had 
much  to  weigh  and  decide.  How  to  deal  with  Pelt  ?  The 
more  gigantic  fraud  he  would  leave  to  Arlyn,  of  whose  return 
he  charged  Abner  to  give  no  intimation,  and'  to  withhold  the 
letter,  in  order  that  the  lawyer  might  be  taken  unprepared. 
Then  with  regard  to  his  own  affair.  He  felt  that  to  appeal 
to  his  father  would  avail  nothing,  and  that  to  charge  Pelt 
with  his  perfidy  would  only  serve  to  put  him  on  his  guard ; 
whereas,  with  Abner's  help,  he  might  catch  him  in  his  own 
net.  He  had  in  view  one  paramount  object ;  namely,  to  pos 
sess  himself  of  the  money  which  was  not  only  his  by  right, 
but  which  had  been  so  solemnly  promised  him  :  and  this  he 
resolved  to  accomplish  at  all  hazards,  if  not  by  strategem,  — 


390       ARNEE   PROFITS   BY   PELT'S   LESSONS. 

for  there  was  little  craft  in  his  nature,  —  then  by  such  bold, 
swift  action  as  was  more  congenial  to  his  character. 

Accordingly,  he  left  Abner  in  charge  to  watch  Pelt  vigilant 
ly,  and  to  report  promptly  to  him.  "  And  now,"  said  he, 
"  to  satisfy  myself,  I  am  going  to  find  him,  and  hear  what  he 
has  to  say.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  will.  If  he  has  seen  you  with  me, 
that'll  be  the  best  way.  I'll  tell  him  you're  anxious  to  know 
about  the  deed  !  "  And  Abner  succeeded  in  catching  it  this 
time,  —  the  grin,  as  fresh  and  perfect  as  ever. 

Arrived  at  the  tavern,  Guy  stopped  outside  while  Abner 
went  into  the  bar-room,  where  Pelt  was  talking,  and  whispered 
to  him  that  he  was  wanted.  The  lawyer  came  out  upon  the 
piazza,  and  in  his  most  cordial  manner  greeted  his  client. 
Koane  followed  them,  greedily  listening,  as  they  walked  up 
ni id  down. 

' '  Have  you  acted  quite  diligently  and  honorably  in  my 
behalf?  "  he  heard  Guy  say. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  replied  Pelt,  "  it  would  not  be  possible  for 
a  man  to  do  more.  I  have  the  business  in  my  own  hands 
now ;  and  I  engage  that  you  shall  have  the  money  by  Tuesday, 
or  Wednesday  at  the  very  latest." 

"  Be  it  so ;  REMEMBER  !  "  said  Guy,  with  a  stern  warning 
in  his  tones. 

Then,  when  he  was  gone,  Pelt  drew  Abner  aside.  He 
did  not  say  any  thing  for  a  minute  or  two,  but  laughed.  In 
deed,  the  lawyer  seemed  to  be  so  full  of  fun  on  that  pleasant 


ABNER    PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS.      391 

occasion,  that  it  bubbled  and  gurgled  out  of  him  as  if  he  had 
been  a  jug. 

"  Abner,  you'll  learn  a  thing  or  two  by  this  little  transac 
tion  :  don't  ye  think  so?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  learning  fast !  "  and  Abner  bubbled  and  gur 
gled  too,  as  if  he  had  been  another  jug. 

"  I  don't  let  every  man  into  my  little  schemes;  and  'tain't 
every  man  I'd  select  to  be  my  pardner,"  said  Pelt,  laying  his 
arm  over  Roane's  shoulders,  in  a  manner  so  very  friendly 
and  flattering,  that  it  made  him  almost  regret  his  treachery. 
But,  if  Abner  felt  any  hot  coals  on  his  head,  what  the  lawyer 
immediately  added  proved  a  refreshingly  cool  application. 
"  When  you've  a  grudge  against  a  man,  ray  young  friend, 
don't  break  with  him  out  and  out.  You  can  do  him  ten  times 
as  much  harm  by  pretending  to  be  his  friend." 

"  Yes,  I  see :  much  obleeged  for  the  lesson,"  answered 
red-head. 

Guy  yearned  to  see  Lucy ;  and  he  felt,  that,  after  her  in 
terview  with  Abner,  she  would  desire  to  consult  with  him. 
But  his  cares,  his  disappointments,  and,  more  than  all,  his 
last  experience  with  Christina,  which  had  seemed  to  verify 
Lucy's  judgment  of  her,  and  which  had  left  in  his  own  bosom 
an  uneasy  sense  of  guilt,  deterred  him.  He  resolved  to  send 
her  a  letter.  He  went  home  to  his  father's  house :  he  entered 
the  library.  There  he  sat  writing  when  the  bell  rang,  and  he 
heard  Pelt's  voice  inquire  for  his  father. 


392       AENER  PROFITS  BY  PELT'S  LESSONS. 

The  colonel  was  in  bed  in  the  next  room.  The  lawyer 
was  admitted  to  see  him  ;  and  there  Guy  overheard  words 
which  more  than  confirmed  Abner's  story,  and  which  sealed 
Pelt's  fate. 

The  next  morning,  he  despatched  Ann  Maria  with  the  let 
ter  to  Lucy.  In  the  mean  time,  what  a  night  he  had  passed  ! 
What  memories  and  wrongs  beset  him  !  —  the  difficulties  of 
the  association ;  the  shameful  desertion  of  its  supporters ; 
Pelt's  villanies ;  Christina ;  poor  Lucy  and  her  babe,  and 
her  father  so  suddenly  returning. 

And  now  was  the  sabbath  come,  —  day  of  rest ;  sweet  sea 
son  of  peace  ;  a  spring-time  sabbath,  when  heavenly  mists 
are  on  the  hills,  and  the  orchards  are  pink  and  white  with 
blossoms,  and  a  thousand  perfumes  scent  the  air,  and  Para 
dise  and  the  happy  garden  are  restored,  with  all  things  fair 
and  calm  inviting  to  holy  communion.  Ah !  man  of  law, 
busy  with  the  world's  craft;  incurable  paralytic,  near  the 
close  of  an  ill-spent  life ;  troubled  men  and  women  all,  — 
make  the  most  of  this  day's  beauty  and  seclusion  ;  bask  in 
the  glory  of  the  celestial  gates,  now  open  ;  drink  the  divine 
waters  that  flow  down  thence  softly  into  the  soul,  —  this  day ; 
for  ye  know  not  what  a  week  may  bring  forth. 


A    STORM    IN    THE    AIR.  393 


XXXIV. 

A  STORM  IN  THE  AIR. 

UY  kept  away  from  Biddikin's  until  Monday, 
not  wishing  to  meet  Christina  until  she  had  had 
time  to  recover  her  equanimity.  A  useless  pre 
caution. 

As  he  entered  the  house  in  the  afternoon,  he  was  met  by 
Mr.  Murk,  whose  eyes  looked  wise  and  fishy. 

"The  sister  was  very  suddenly  impressed  to  depart,"  re 
marked  the  philanthropist.  "I  remonstrated;  but  I  per 
ceived  that  it  was  to  be." 

"  Christina  ?  "  cried  Guy.     "  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"I  conveyed  her  on  Saturday  evening  to  the  Mt.  Solo 
mon  House,  — taking  the  brother's  horse,"  smiled  Mr.  Murk, 
"  at  her  urgent  request." 

He  deliberately  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  Guy 
seized  it,  hastened  to  his  private  room,  and  read  :  — 

"lean  no  longer  be  of  use  to  you,  and  I  go;  having 
already  staid  a  day  too  long.  My  spiritual  gift  —  for  which 


394  A    STOEM    IN    THE    AIR. 

alone  you  valued  me  —  went  before.  I  lost  it  when  I  lost 
myself.  It  will  return  to  me  only  when  my  tranquillity  re 
turns  ;  which  can  never  be  with  you.  I  loved  you,  Guy 
Bannington.  There,  take  my  heart ;  tread  it  beneath  your 
proud  feet.  I  neither  hate  nor  love  you  now.  I  am  ice. 
The  universe  wails  around  me;  but  I  hear  it  with  dull  ears. 
Farewell !  I  am  weary,  and  wish  to  sleep." 

The  letter  bore  no  signature  :  but  well  enough  he  knew 
what  hand  had  written  it ;  well  enough  he  knew  from  what 
heart  had  come  this  desolate  broken  cry. 

And  now  he  had  lost  her  too  ;  the  gifted,  the  glorious  one, 
who  had  led  him  by  her  shining  influence  to  this  peak  of  dif 
ficulty,  and  vanished.  Surely,  he  thought,  he  would  never 
have  been  here  but  for  her.  The  desertion  of  all  the  rest  he 
could  better  bear  than  this.  It  was  a  stunning  stroke  ;  and 
for  a  moment  he  felt  dizzy,  alone,  disheartened,  unsupported. 

Then  he  remembered  the  crown  she  had  plaited  for  him 
with  bleeding  hands.  He  took  it  from  a  casket,  and  placed 
it  once  more  upon  his  temples,  groaning  in  spirit. 

"  This  is  the  one  true  prophecy  !  "  he  said.  "  0  Chris 
tina  !  you  have  crowned,  not  my  head  only  with  thorns,  but 
my  soul  also,  and  pierced  it  cruelly!"  —  how  cruelly,  he 
knew  not  yet. 

At  a  knock  upon  the  door,  he  put  away  the  crown,  and, 
with  a  start  of  disagreeable  surprise,  admitted  Abner.  He 
knew  by  the  comer's  face  that  the  time  to  act  had  arrived,  — 
the  dreaded,  imperative  time. 


A    STORM    IN    THE    AIR.  395 

"  He  has  gone  over  the  mountain,"  said  Roane ;  "or 
rather  around,  by  the  South  Road  :  for  I  suppose  he  was 
afraid  of  meeting  you  if  he  had  come  this  way.  The  Dutch 
man  which  is  going  to  buy  don't  understand  English ;  and  the 
conveyance  of  the  property  will  be  made  and  the  money  paid 
—  all  in  gold  —  over  there,  where  his  friends  are,  this 
afternoon.  I  was  in  the  office  when  Dutch  Peter  came  for 
him.  He  went  an  hour  ago.  He  can't  get  the  money  into 
the  bank  to-day ;  for  he  won't  be  back  much  'fore  evening, 
if  at  all." 

Guy  put  a  few  questions  to  assure  himself ;  then  waved  his 
hand  :  "  That  will  do !  —  go  !  "  As  soon  as  he  was  alone,  he 
drew  a  diagram  of  the  two  roads.  By  one  of  them,  Pelt 
would  return  :  by  which  ?  Had  Guy  known  that,  his  plan 
of  action  would  have  been  as  clear  and  direct  as  his  resolu 
tion  was.  But  now  he  was  much  in  doubt.  Suddenly  the 
room  grew  gloomy ;  the  day  was  darkening  with  clouds  : 
a  shadow  fell  upon  the  diagram.  Upon  his  mind  also  fell  a 
shadow,  it  might  be  of  the  clouds,  or  it  might  be  of  his  own 
misgivings,  —  one  cannot  say,  the  mind  is  so  sympathetic 
with  Nature,  and  is  so  easily  affected  by  its  changes. 

Guy  was  studying  the  problem  when  Mr.  Murk  came  in, 
who  said  he  was  impressed  that  his  assistance  was  necessary. 
Guy  regarded  him  searchingly ;  considering  well  before  he 
spoke. 

"  A  thing  is  to  be  done  that  involves  risk,  and  requires 
nerve.  I  ask  no  one's  help." 


396  A    STORM    IN    THE    AIR. 

"  I  am  impressed,"  said  the  philanthropist,  "  that  I  am  to 
help;"  and  he  smiled  dryly, — the  stolid,  big-nosed  man. 
Guy  perceived  how  important  it  might  be  to  have  such  an 
auxiliary.  Ho  stated  his  purpose,  and  the  difficulty.  Murk 
nodded  with  half-closed  sapient  eyes,  and  pronounced  judg 
ment,  —  "  What  is  necessary  to  be  done,  must  be  done,"  — 
and  promised  his  support. 

Guy  named  a  rendezvous  in  the  woods,  and  departed, 
leaving  the  philanthropist  to  follow.  Then  the  latter  com 
muned  silently  with  Socrates  and  Swedenborg  for  some 
minutes;  both  arms  wagging,  strangely  enough,  there  in  the 
solitary  room  :  for  whatever  you,  profound  reader,  may  think 
of  him,  it  is  plain  that  he  was  not  a  hypocrite  in  his  own 
eyes;  as  few  men,  probably,  ever  are.  No  doubt,  Murk 
really  thought  he  had  a  "mission,"  as  so  many  others  have 
thought  they  had,  on  equally  reasonable  grounds ;  and,  when 
his  fists  jerked,  no  doubt  he  believed  it  was  the  wise  Athe 
nian  and  the  mystical  Swede  that  did  it. 

"  Yes,  the  time  has  come,"  he  said  with  a  dull  gleam  of 
satisfaction. 

He  walked  to  the  kitchen,  where  he  found  Mad  cleaning  a 
pistol.  The  young  man  had  been  restless  and  sullen  since 
Christina's  departure  ;  muscles  averse  to  work ;  volcano  mu 
tinous,  missing  the  thumb.  His  ambition  now  was  to  shoot 
something.  "  Birds,"  he  told  Mr.  Murk. 

"  You  have  a  precious  soul,  brother  :  did  you  ever  think 
of  it?"  the  philanthropist  solemnly  inquired. 


A    STORM    IN    THE    AIR.  397 

"  Two  of  'em  !  "  said  Mad,  sprawling  in  a  chair,  and  show 
ing  the  bottoms  of  his  boots. 

"  A  precious  immortal  soul,  brother :  how  can  you  dese 
crate  it  by  killing  the  innocent  birds  ?  Poor  brother  !  "  add 
ed  Murk  with  a  pitying  groan. 

Little  jets  of  the  volcanic  flame  began  to  shoot  from  Mad's 
eyes. 

"  Look  here,  old  Peppermint !  it's  my  opinion  that  kind 
of  humbug  is  about  played  out.  She  is  gone ;  and,  by  thun 
der  !  she  was  worth  all  of  ye.  I've  worked,  because  she 
wanted  me  to;  and  I'd  have  done  any  thing  she  asked.  But 
what  are  you  working  for  ?  That's  what  I'd  like  to  know." 

"  For  humanity,"  Murk  answered. 

"  For  your  granny  !  "  Mad  irreverently  responded. 

"  For  humanity,"  repeated  the  philanthropist  with  dull, 
grim  visage.  "  It  is  a  great  work.  She  is  gone,  and  others 
will  go.  They  were  instruments.  The  chief  is  but  an  in 
strument  :  he  will  go  too.  Then  the  real  chief —  the  God- 
sent  leader  —  will  appear." 

Mad  stared.     "And  that  is  you  !  " 

Murk  gave  a  solemn  nod. 

"  It  is  a  great  truth.  You  are  one  of  the  first  to  recog 
nize  it.  I  have  my  commission  from  the  Lord.  Will  you 
be  my  disciple  ?  For  the  time  has  come  when  I  must  choose 
my  own." 

Mad  stared  again,  astounded  by  the  tone  of  deep  religious 
conviction  in  which  these  words  were  uttered,  and  which  gave 


398  A    STORM    IN    THE    AIR. 

him  a  new  glimpse  of  Murk's  character.  Where  he  had 
hitherto  seen  only  fathomless  thick  mud  of  stupidity,  a  rock- 
like  purpose  now  reared  itself,  bare  and  grand.  For,  even 
in  the  man  we  laugh  at  as  a  fanatic,  a  stupendous  claim,  sup 
ported  by  immobile,  granitic  earnestness,  produces  an  impos 
ing  effect.  We  know  that  he  is  wrong ;  yet  the  zeal  with 
which  he  believes  himself  right  impresses  the  imagination. 
A  child  may  be  terrified  by  a  mask  which  he  has  seen  put 
on.  It  is  therefore  not  surprising  that  Mad,  who  did  not  of 
course  really  believe  in  Murk  any  more  at  this  time  than  at 
any  other,  should  have  been  a  little  awe-struck  by  him. 
The  philanthropist  perceived  his  advantage,  and  was  per 
suaded  that  he  had  secured  a  disciple. 

"  Important  truths  bearing  upon  this  subject  shall  be 
revealed  as  you  are  prepared  to  receive  them ;  but,  for 
the  moment,  a  secular  matter  requires  attention.  Money 
which  is  necessary  to  the  association  is  in  the  hands  of  a 
brother,  from  whom  I  foresee  it  must  be  forcibly  taken.  The 
chief  claims  the  money  as  his  own,  and  will  seize  it  on  these 
grounds.  That  may  be  expedient :  but,  with  me  and  my  dis 
ciples,  all  things  are  lawful ;  and  what  is  necessary  to  be 
done,  we  are  divinely  authorized  to  do." 

The  ethics  of  these  remarks  Mad  did  not  particularly  un 
derstand  ;  but  when  the  name  of  the  auriferous  brother  was 
mentioned,  and  the  nature  of  the  enterprise  definitely  stated, 
he  understood  perfectly  well.  And  never  did  disciple  more 
eagerly  enlist  in  a  master's  service  than  he  on  this  occasion 


A     THUNDER-CLAP.  399 

accompanied  Murk,  —  not  so  much  for  the  love  of  humanity 
as  for  the  love  of  adventure  ;  not  because  he  reverenced  the 
philanthropist,  but  because  he  hated  Pelt. 

Guy  had  by  this  time  reached  the  rendezvous  in  the  woods, 
where  he  waited,  revolving  his  plans.  The  day  was  sultry 
for  the  season,  the  sky  was  thunderous,  the  forest  breathless, 
the  air  heavy  with  gloom.  Overhead,  seen  through  the 
thinly  leaved  branches,  the  massy  clouds  blackened  and 
rolled.  Through  the  hollow  silence  the  wild  brook  ran, 
prophesying  doleful  things ;  and  night  was  coming  on. 

At  length,  Guy  heard  feet  approaching  ;  and,  looking  out 
from  the  bushes,  frowned  angrily  at  sight  of  Murk's  compan 
ion. 

"  What  have  you  brought  this  fellow  for  ?  "  he  muttered. 

"  The  brother  will  be  of  use,"  replied  the  philanthropist. 
"I  have  taken  the  responsibility." 

"  That  was  not  for  you  to  do  ;  but  no  matter  now  :  "  for 
Guy  saw  that  it  was  too  late  to  raise  objections,  and  that 
there  was  no  way  now  but  to  trust  Mad,  and  to  make  use  of 
him.  Mad,  who  had  heard  what  was  said,  grinned  a  malev 
olent  grin ;  while  Guy  hurriedly  sketched  his  plan  for  the 
reception  of  Pelt,  who  might  now  shortly  be  expected  at  any 
moment,  on  either  of  the  two  roads. 


400  A     THUNDER-CLAP. 


XXXV. 
A   THUNDER-CLAP. 

RS.  PINWORTH  was  setting  her  genteel  but 
very  frugal  tea-table  ;  while  Sophy  was  occupied 
in  making  over  her  winter  bonnet  into  a  summer 
hat. 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  to  put  on  the  front,"  said 
the  young  lady. 

"  Oh,  something  red;  you're  so  very  fond  of  red  !  ' '  allud 
ing  to  the  Roane  top-knot. 

"  There  !  "  —  Sophy  threw  her  bonnet,  —  "if  you  can't 
stop  twitting  me  about  him,  I  won't  do  another  stitch  of  work 
in  this  house  !  " 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  was  you,  you're  going  to  marry  so  well ! " 
and  with  a  sarcastic  expression  the  widow  bent  her  tall,  spare 
form,  and  reached  across  the  table  to  lay  a  plate.  "  Go  and 
see  who  is  at  the  door." 

"  I  sha'n't  stir  a  step  :  I'm  nobody's  servant,  madam  !  " 

"  Well,  miss  !  if  ever  there  was  an  ungrateful  child  !  "  — 
The  bell  rang  with  sudden  jangle.  "  Who  can  be  ringing  in 


A      THUNDER. CLAP.  401 

that  way  ?  "  The  widow  peeped  through  the  blinds.  "  An 
old-boots  man,  I  guess.  I  do  wish  such  wretches  "  — 

She  opened  the  door  about  six  inches,  and  showed  a  face 
from  which  such  wretches  might  certainly  take  a  hint.  A 
large,  rough-looking,  weather-beaten,  grizzly-bearded  man,  in 
slouched  hat  and  coarse  worn  clothes,  with  a  travelling-bag  in 
his  hand,  — all  covered  with  dust,  —  stood  on  the  piazza. 

"Nothing!"  said  the  curt  widow;  and  she  was  biting 
off  communication  abruptly  with  the  door,  when  the  traveller 
threw  up  his  hand. 

"  Salome  !  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Pinworth  opened  her  cage  again  a  few  inches,  and, 
deigning  to  look  at  the  speaker,  was  betrayed  into  a  slight 
surprise. 

"  Why,  Benjamin  !  is  it  you?"  and,  after  some  hesita 
tion,  she  opened  the  door  a  few  inches  farther,  and  extended 
her  hand  stiffly.  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  Sister  !  "  heaved  the  agitated  voice  of  the  big  dusty  man ; 
and,  bursting  into  the  house,  he  caught  the  prim  widow  in 
his  arms,  and  hugged  her  to  his  great  warm  heart,  and  kissed 
her  pale  virtuous  face  with  his  bearded  lips. 

She  disengaged  herself  as  quickly  as  possible,  arranged  her 
crumpled  collar,  and  brushed  her  sleeve.  "  You'd  better 
step  in,"  she  said  in  a  formal  voice.  "  Sophy,  here  is  your 
uncle  Benjamin." 

Now,  Sophy  remembered  her  great-hearted  uncle  with 
rather  more  affection  than  she  was  wont  to  feel  for  her  rela- 

26 


402  A     THUNDER-CLAP. 

lives  ;  and  she  ran  to  meet  him  with  an  impulsiveness  which 
seemed  enthusiastic  compared  with  her  mother's  frigidity. 
lie  kissed  her  heartily,  and  shook  both  her  hands  at  once ; 
then  looked  around  expectantly. 

"  And  Lucy  — where  is  Lucy?  " 

"You'd  better  sit  down,"  said  the  widow;  "though 
you're  very  dusty,  and  perhaps  I'd  better  get  you  the 
broom  "  — 

"  Where  is  my  child?  "  demanded  the  traveller  anxiously 
with  glistening  eyes.  "  Her  first !  Is  she  well  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  straight-backed  relict,  resigning  her 
self  to  the  dust,  "  and  I  will  try  to  tell  you." 

"  For  God's  sake !  "  he  articulated,  "  what  has  happened 
to  her  ?  I  am  sure  you  never  would  give  your  brother  such 
a  welcome  as  this  if  all  was  well !  " 

"I  have  done  my  duty  by  Lucy  faithfully," — with  a 
self-righteous  look.  "  She  will  tell  you  so." 

"  Then  she's  alive?  —  thank  God  for  that!  She  is  my 
idol,  my  all,  as  you  know  !  I  couldn't  have  borne  it  if  any 
thing  had  happened  to  her.  But  why  hasn't  she  written  ? 
Not  a  word  have  I  heard  from  one  of  you  for  more  than  a 
year,  as  often  as  I  have  written." 

"You  have  written  ?"  cried  Sophy.  "We  all  thought 
you  was  dead." 

"  Dead  ?  when  I've  been  digging  gold,  and  sending  it  on 
here  by  thousands  ?  Near  ten  thousand  dollars  I've  sent  to 
Pelt ;  and  I  could  have  brought  as  much  more  but  for  my 


A      THUNDER-CLAP.  403 

terrible  anxiety,  —  not  getting  a  word  from  anybody  here. 
I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer." 

"Why,  brother  Ben!"  exclaimed  the  widow,  suddenly 
warming,  "have  you  been  so  fortunate!  —  Sophy,  bring 
a  glass  of  that  elderberry-wine.  —  You  must  be  thirsty.  Let 
me  take  your  coat  and  brush  it  for  you.  Our  tea  is  almost 
ready  ;  and  you're  just  in  time.  How  good  it  will  seem  — 
won't  it,  Sophy  ?  —  to  have  your  uncle  with  us  !  I  hardly 
knew  you  at  first,  you  are  so  changed  !  You've  sent  Mr. 
Pelt  — how  much?" 

"  Hasn't  he  —  hasn't  Lucy  —  told  you  ?  " 

"  I  must  confess,"  said  the  bewildered  widow,  "  they  have 
kept  it  pretty  secret :  not  a  word  of  it  has  ever  come  to  my 
ear." 

"  I  don't  believe  Lucy  knows  of  it  herself!  "  cried  Sophy ; 
"  and  I  see  now  what  Abner  has  been  hinting  lately  about 
Pelt !  " 

"  It  isn't  possible  !  —  you  don't  think  —  he  is  a  villain  ?  " 
said  Arlyn,  startled.  "  Call  Lucy  !  Why  don't  one  of  you 
bring  her  ?  Is  she  in  the  house  ?  But  do  let  me  wash  off  a 
little  of  this  dust,  so  she'll  know  me." 

"Pelt  has  grown  rich  all  of  a  sudden,  and  built  him  a 
grand  house,"  said  Sophy. 

"  He  wished  to  marry  Sophy,"  added  her  mother;  "but 
I  have  mistrusted  something  wasn't  right,  and  opposed  the 
match." 

"There's  some   mistake,"   replied    Arlyn.      "He    has 


404  A      THUNDER-CLAP. 

drawn  the  money ;  but  *he  wouldn't  certainly  think  of  swin 
dling  me  !  Must  be  he  never  got  my  letters.  I  —  I  must 
see  him.  But  Lucy  before  any  thing  !  Why  —  why  do 
you  look  so?  " 

"I  have  something  very  painful  to  say  to  you  about 
Lucy,"  said  Mrs.  Pinworth. 

"No,  no!— nothing  bad?" 

"  Be  prepared,  dear  brother;  and  remember  that  you  have 
a  home  and  a  sister.  Sophy  will  be  a  daughter  to  you  in 
her  place." 

"Her  place?  What  has  become  of  her?  Tell  me  at 
once,  —  every  thing !  " 

"  Alas  !  she  has  disgraced  us  all !  She  eloped  nearly  a 
year  ago." 

Arlyn  had  risen  to  his  feet,  alarmed ;  but  now  he  sank 
back  stunned. 

"  Not  Lucy  ?  —  not  my  child  ?  " 

"  Her  conduct  cannot  give  you  any  more  pain  than  it  has 
me,"  said  the  widow  mournfully.  "  It  has  cost  me  days  and 
nights  of  prayers  and  tears." 

"  She  has  not  —  not  done  wrong?  "  gasped  forth  the  poor 
pleading  father. 

"  She  is  not  married,"  replied  the  excellent  woman  rigid 
ly  ;  "  but  she  has  a  child." 

Arlyn  did  not  speak  for  a  minute,  —  his  face  ghastly  and 
vacant,  his  eyes  staring,  his  big  heart  slowly  heaving  as  if  it 
would  burst.  Then  he  said,  or  rather  whispered,  — 


A     THUNDER-CLAP.  405 

"Who  is  the  villain?" 

"  Guy  Bannington,"  said  the  widow  with  severe  precision. 
"  And  you  may  well  say  '  villain ' !  " 

«  He  —  HIS  son !  "  All  his  wrongs  at  the  hands  of  the 
colonel  rushed  back  upon  him.  He  clutched  aimlessly  and 
helplessly  at  the  air ;  then,  swayed  by  a  fearful  agitation, 
he  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"Why!  you  ain't  going?  Do  stop  to  tea,  brother!" 
The  words  did  not  seem  to  reach  him  for  a  moment ;  but  at 
the  door  he  paused,  as  if  dimly  conscious  that  some  civil 
phrase  was  expected  of  him. 

"Thank  you,  sister:  I  have  business.  'Twill  soon  be 
dark.  I  sha'n't  want  any  supper.  Thank  you  kindly." 

He  shook  the  mother's  hand,  and  then  the  daughter's,  with 
noble  courtesy,  smiling  a  forced  and  haggard  smile  ;  then  went 
forth  with  a  pent-up  tempest  and  gathering '  thunders  in  his 
breast,  which  made  the  black  sky  and  muttering  hanging 
storm-clouds  seem  idle-  mockery. 


406  LAWYER     PELT     GETS      WET. 


XXXVI. 

LAWYER  PELT  GETS   WET. 

QUIRE  PELT  had  by  this  time  completed  his 
transaction  with  the  Dutchman,  and  mounted  his 
wagon,  with  Guy's  farm  in  his  great-coat  pocket. 
He  spread  the  garment  on  the  seat,  and  sat  on  it ;  the  whole 
man,  the  entire  Elphaz,  so  to  speak,  twinkling  exultantly,  as 
he  arranged  the  pocket  at  his  side,  where  he  could  feel  the 
precious  lump,  into  which  fifty  acres  of  mountain-slope,  with 
buildings,  had  been  by  the  alchemy  of  a  shrewd  trade  con 
verted. 

"  I'm  sharp  !  "  he  seemed  to  be  congratulating  himself  as 
he  drove  away.  "  I've  outwitted  Guy  this  time.  He  could 
take  Lucy  out  of  my  hands ;  and  he's  welcome.  It  took 
me  to  come  up  with  'em !  He'll  never  see  this  money,  any 
more  than  she'll  see  the  color  of  old  Ben  Arlyn's  California 
gold.  Ten  to  one,  Arlyn  never'll  come  back  :  he'll  die  in 
the  mines,  or-  on  the  Isthmus,  or  get  killed  in  a  quarrel,  — 
he's  a  rash  fellow,  — and  that'll  be  the  last  of  him.  And  even 
if  he  should  happen  to  get  home  alive,  —  why,  I  shall  have 


LAWYER     PELT     GETS      WET.  407 

warning.  The  most  he  can  make  of  it,  any  way,  is  a  breach  of 
trust ;  and  I  can  fight  him  with  the  law  :  the  colonel'l)  help 
me,  and  like  the  fun.  I  must  manage  to  choke  off  Abner 
somehow.  If  I'm  going  to  rise  in  life,  I  mustn't  have  him 
hanging  to  ray  coat-tails.  I  will  rise :  I'll  be  the  richest 
man  in  this  town.  Talk  about  honesty  being  the  best  policy  ! 
I  should  be  a  miserable  plodding  lawyer  all  my  days  if  I  tried 
to  be  honest.  As  it  is  —  Go  'long !  "  cried  Pelt  to  his  horse. 
"  It's  going  to  rain  like  great  guns,  and  I've  no  umbrella." 

He  was  undecided  which  way  to  go,  —  over  the  brow  of  the 
mountain,  by  Biddikin's,  or  round  by  the  South  Road.  This 
was  the  easiest  route,  but  the  longest. 

"  I'll  let  the  nag  take  his  choice,"  said  Elphaz.  "  There 
ain't  much  difference,  as  I  see.  Yes,  there  is  a  difference. 
It's  going  to  rain,  and  I'll  go  the  nearest  way." 

Upon  so  slight  a  circumstance  hangs  the  destiny  of  a  man  ! 
To  avoid  a  shower  !  —  as  if  that  was  any  thing  to  a  good-feel 
ing  fellow  like  Elphaz.  The  thought  does  indeed  occur  to 
him  that  there  are  other  disagreeable  things,  besides  wet  clothes 
and  a  saturated  cuticle,  which  a  man  might  reasonably  wish 
to  forego. 

"  But,  if  I  meet  Guy,  I'll  tell  him  the  farm  ain't  to  be  sold 
till  to-morrow ;  and  I'll  have  the  money  in  the  bank  by  that 
time." 

Whip,  whip  !  The  clouds  thicken,  and  roll  portentously. 
On  the  summit  of  the  mountain-road  an  awful  scene  presents 
itself.  The  whole  valley  before  him  is  darkened.  The  for- 


408  LAWYER     PELT     GETS      WET. 

ests  seem  hushed  with  terror.  The  mountain-tops  have  a 
sense  of  what  is  coming :  they  listen,  and  breathlessly  wait. 
The  far  western  peaks,  and  the  peaks  still  beyond,  are  like 
pillars,  over  which  hangs  and  sways  a  terrible  black  canopy. 
Some  pierce  and  tear  the  ebon  mass  ;  some  are  half  buried  in 
rushing  curtains  of  rain ;  and  about  some  the  lightnings  play 
like  serpents. 

The  sun  could  hardly  yet  be  down  ;  but  already  it  was  fast 
growing  dark. 

"  I  shall  get  a  ducking,  sure  as  fate  !  "  the  lawyer  mutters, 
seriously  troubled ;  as  if  a  man  might  not  be  wet  by  some 
thing  more  tragical  than  rain-water  ! 

As  he  passes  Biddikin's,  —  the  huge  solemn  crags  glooming 
dreadfully  over  the  woods  on  the  left,  —  the  pygmy  of  the 
place  runs  out,  and  screams,  — 

"  Pelt !  Squire  Pelt !  wait  a  minute  !  Here's  Jehiel  Hedge 
wants  to  ride  :  he  has  hurt  his  foot,  and  can't  walk." 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry  !  "  growls  Pelt,  and  whips  along,  to  the 
wrath  of  the  little  doctor. 

Ah  !  had  you  been  a  little  more  obliging,  Elphaz !  For 
was  not  there  a  sort  of  providence  in  it  that  Jehiel  should 
sprain  his  ankle  that  afternoon,  and  claim  a  passage  in  Pelt's 
buggy  ?  Pelt,  in  denying  him,  denied  also  his  own  guardian 
angel,  if  he  had  one.  For  surely,  had  Jehiel  gone  with  El 
phaz,  what  happened  that  night  would  not  have  happened.  It 
mattered  little  indeed  to  Jehiel ;  but  oh  the  difference  to 
Elphaz ! 


LAWYER     PELT     GETS      WET.  409 

"  Think  I'm  going  to  stop  for  a  clod-hopper,  when  a  storm 
like  this  is  coming  ?  It'll  be  pitch-dark  now  going  through 
the  woods.  Lord,  what  lightning !  " 

He  stopped,  however,  long  enough  to  put  on  his  coat,  and 
to  feel  the  golden  lump  in  the  pocket  thump  against  his  thigh. 
Then  whip,  whip !  It  was  down-hill  now  all  the  way ;  a 
little  too  much  so  perhaps,  in  places,  for  rapid  driving.  And 
now  the  woods  are  entered,  —  the  thick  woods,  where  it  was 
impossible  to  hasten ;  and  now  the  heavens  are  sealed  ut 
terly  with  the  sable  seal  of  the  night  and  the  storm ;  and 
now  —  what  is  this  ? 

The  horse  comes  to  a  quick  halt,  and  absolutely  declines  to 
proceed.  Pelt  tries  in  vain  to  prevail  upon  him  ;  scolds  him, 
whips  him,  jerks  him  by  the  reins.  Bonny  groans,  but  will 
not  budge.  It  is  very  dark,  and  growing  darker  every  in 
stant.  The  woods  all  round  are  fearfully  empty  of  sound, 
save  where  the  torrent  pours  ;  and  black,  save  where  the  dis 
tant  lightning  winks.  And  now  the  loosened  thunder  top 
ples  down  upon  them,  bursting  in  their  tops ;  and  tumbles 
crumbling  away  in  the  far  muffled  silences  ;  followed  by  slow 
pattering  rain. 

"  Go  'long,  you  fool !  "  cries  Balaam,  cudgelling  the  poor 
beast.  "  I'll  learn  you  to  balk  this  way  !  " 

Whack,  whack  !  echo  blows  of  the  whip-stock  in  the  hollow 
woods.  The  animal,  instead  of  advancing,  backs  the  buggy 
round  against  a  tree.  The  angel  of  the  Lord,  whose  sword 
is  the  quick-drawn  lightning,  stands  before;  and  Balaam 


410  LAWYER     PELT     GETS     WET. 

knows  it  not.  Is  the  beast  afraid  of  the  lightning  ?  Balaam 
will  see. 

He  gets  out  of  his  wagon,  and  goes  to  the  animal's  head ; 
feels  carefully  about  with  hand  and  foot ;  discovers  no  impedi 
ment  ;  and  begins  to  lead  cautiously  forward.  Just  then,  the 
Ethiop  face  of  the  sky  yawns  from  ear  to  ear,  —  a  chasm  of 
flame,  by  the  dazzle  of  which  he  sees  the  woods  before  him  all 
ablaze  for  a  wild  swift  instant,  and  the  red-lighted  road 
stretching  sinuous  away  among  the  still  sentinel  trees.  Then 
the  darkness  shuts  again  like  a  trap,  enclosing  Balaam  and 
beast. 

But  in  that  fiery  instant  he  has  seen  much.  The  picture 
is  still  in  his  brain,  — the  red-lighted  road  before  him,  with 
neither  log  nor  limb  across  it.  Why  isn't  the  way  clear, 
then?  What  ails  the  brute?  "  Come  along  !  "  he  mutters ; 
ard  the  brute  comes  willingly  now  :  when,  lo  !  Balaam  him 
self  is  stopped  by  an  invisible  sword  across  his  throat. 

A  sword,  —  or  something  else  ;  a  rigid  branch,  perhaps. 
He  puts  up  his  hand,  and  clutches  —  a  rope. 

And  now  the  traveller  grows  suddenly  superstitious.  Not 
the  darkness,  not  the  moaning  brook,  not  the  scanty  rain  dis 
mally  pattering,  not  sheet-lightning  and  horribly  crashing 
thunder,  with  the  circumstance  of  the  beast's  mysterious  stop 
ping,  struck  such  fear  to  his  soul  as  this  little  rope  tightened 
over  the  road.  A  tree  fallen  there  would  not  have  appalled 
him,  —  that  might  have  happened  in  the  natural  course  of 
things ;  but  a  rope  suggests  contrivance,  and  means  mischief. 


LAWYER     PELT     GETS     WET.  411 

And  now  Elphaz  recalls  the  former  time  when  his  horse 
committed  an  extraordinary  freak  in  the  night,  and  remem 
bers  that  Mad  was  at  the  bottom  of  it ;  and  feels  it  in  his 
stirring  flesh  and  hair  that  Mad  is  also  concerned  in  this. 

The  many  threats  of  his  hot-blooded  young  rival ;  the 
convenience  of  the  time  and  place  for  private  murder ;  the 
tempting  gold  in  his  pocket,  thumping  his  thigh  as  he  walks, 

—  all  this,  rushing  over  him,  makes  his  knees  weak  and  his 
blood  chill.     And  devoutly  he  wishes  now  that  he  had  been 
a  little  more  accommodating  to  Jehiel ;  realizing  in  a  literal 
manner  the  truth,  that  the  mercy  which  man  withholds  from 
his  neighbor  he  withholds  far  more  fatally  from  himself. 

He  feels  hurriedly  along  the  rope,  and  finds  it  fastened  to  a 
tree.  He  can  stoop  under  it  easily  enough ;  but  it  is  needful 
to  untie  it  for  his  horse.  This  he  is  struggling>  to  do ;  when 

—  flash  !  —  and  by  the  momentary  illumination  he  sees  a  man 
standing  not  three  yards  off,  groping  in  the  buggy  with  his 
hands.     Darkness  drops  like  the  daguerrotypist's  cloth  over 
the  camera ;  but  the  view  is  taken,  and  the  plate  of  memory 
will  retain  it  faithfully  till  the  judgment-day. 

What  does  the  man  want,  groping  there  in  the  buggy  ?  Is 
it  fortunate,  or  the  reverse,  that  the  lawyer  has  the  gold  in 
his  pocket  ?  Panic  seizes  him  :  he  will  abandon  his  horse, 
and  run.  He  pauses  only  to  feel  what  his  coat  has  caught 
upon  ;  for  something  holds  him.  He  hastily  grasps  it.  It  is 
a  MAN'S  HAND  ! 

"  Who  are  you?  what  do  you  want?  "  bursts  the  hoarse 
voice  of  Elphaz. 


412  LAWYER     PELT     GETS     WET. 

Straightway  ho  is  hurled  upon  the  ground,  throttled,  and 
robbed,  by  brigands  two  or  more.  To  one  of  these  he  clings 
with  desperate  grip.  He  rises  to  his  knees  with  him,  and 
will  not  be  shaken  off.  There  they  struggle;  and  now 
once  more  the  broad  lightning  glares,  and  the  two  see  each 
other  face  to  face. 

Face  to  face,  the  enemies,  for  one  fearful  white  instant  of 
time ! 

Then  deluging  thunder  drowns  all  sound,  and  the  black 
ness  of  darkness  shrouds  what  is  done  afterwards. 

Assuredly  it  is  an  evil  time  for  Elphaz  Pelt.  Crafty 
man !  is  this,  then,  thy  hour  of  triumph  ?  and  was  it  so  easy 
to  circumvent  thy  fellows,  nay,  God  himself,  who  has  de 
clared  thou  shalt  not  steal,  and  that  thou  shalt  love  thy  neigh 
bor? 

Retribution  has  certainly  come  to  thee  this  night ;  as,  swift 
or  slow,  it  comes  to  all  evil-doers  at  last.  For  now,  though  tho 
bandits  may  be  baffled,  another  danger  awaits  ;  yea,  is  com 
ing  !  Old  Ben  Arlyn  is  after  you!  Old  Ben  Arlyn,  stung 
to  fury  by  his  wrongs,  is  tramping  up  the  road,  in  the  wild 
night,  amid  the  dropping  thunderbolts,  as  wild  as  they,  — 
tramping  on  and  on,  to  hunt  this  villain  of  villains  called  by 
your  name. 

You,  who  thought  him  far  away,  and  he  so  near  !  Hav 
ing  encountered  Abner,  he  has  learned  from  him  the  whole 
maddening  story,  —  how  you  received  the  letters  enclosing 


LAWYER     PELT     GETS     WET.  413 

those  which  Lucy  never  got ;  and  how  you  appropriated 
to  your  own  avarice  the  dowry  which  would  have  insured  for 
her  an  honorable  marriage,  and  saved  her  from  shame.  For 
Guy  —  as  Abner  explained  —  appeared  sufficiently  to  love 
her,  and  but  for  the  colonel's  threat  of  disinheritance,  and  the 
fear  of  bringing  her  to  poverty,  would  undoubtedly  have  made 
her  his  wife.  The  colonel,  then,  and  you,  Elphaz,  are  chiefly 
responsible.  But  the  colonel  was  an  open  enemy;  whilst 
you  were  a  treacherous  knave.  Thanks  to  red-head's  friend 
ship  or  fear,  Guy's  offence  is  placed  second  on  the  list ;  and 
against  you,  first  and  foremost,  the  full  torrent  of  the  father's 
anger  is  let  loose. 

Tramp,  tramp,  he  comes  !  At  sight  of  the  glimmering  win 
dows  of  Jehiel's  house,  where  he  knows  are  his  daughter  and 
her  child,  his  mighty  heart  is  wrung.  He  dares  not  trust 
himself  to  see  them.  He  will  spare  her,  his  idol,  desecrated, 
but  still  dear.  So,  gulping  down  his  sorrow  and  his  wrath, 
he  hurries  on  amid  the  dropping  thunderbolts,  eager  to  do  his 
dread  errand. 

Cunning  one  !  do  you  chuckle  now  at  your  signal  success 
in  life  ?  Do  you  exult  at  the  fine  prospect  ahead,  and  laugh 
at  your  duped  victims  ?  Nay,  you  may  as  well  die  where  you 
are  as  meet  this  powerful  impetuous  father  in  his  rage. 

Yet  it  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  cut  off"  suddenly  in  one's  sins, 
almost  with  the  grimace  of  craftiness  on  one's  face  ! 

Tramp,  tramp,  he  comes !  Through  the  thick  wall  of  dark 
ness  and  the  occasional  chinks  of  lightning ;  now  losing  the 


414  LAWYER     PELT     GETS 


path,  and  reeling  among  the  tree-trunks,  till  his  way  is  illu 
mined  ;  amid  the  noise  of  the  water-course,  of  the  echoing 
thunder-claps,  and  of  the  storm  in  the  tossing  branches,  — 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  —  he  comes  ! 

What  he  will  do  with  Pelt  when  he  finds  him,  it  is  not  pro 
bable  that  he  has  once  paused  to  consider.  To  hold  him 
by  the  throat,  and  say,  "  Thus  and  thus  did  you  !  "  is  the  hot 
surging  purpose  of  his  soul.  Let  us  hope  he  would  not  mur 
der  Pelt  ! 

For  more  than  a  mile  above  Jehicl's  he  keeps  on,  meeting 
no  one,  —  not  a  living  being  on  that  lonesome  road.  But 
hark  !  there  was  a  sound  !  —  a  scream  suddenly  suppressed. 
He  listens.  A  hoarse  terrified  tongue  breaks  loose  at  inter 
vals  ;  now  low,  quick  tones  of  hurried  conference  ;  then 
a  pistol-shot  ;  and  now  hoofs  and  rattling  wheels,  as  a  horse 
dashes  past  him  with  a  bounding  vehicle.  A  faint  gleam 
shows  him  the  reins  loosely  flying,  and  the  vehicle  empty; 
and  the  frightened  animal  plunges  on  into  the  blind  night. 

But  the  voices  !  they  have  suddenly  ceased.  Arlyn  quick 
ens  his  pace,  running  by  the  lightning.  Through  the  brush 
wood  he  has  seen  a  human  figure  retreating.  Has  Pelt  re 
cognized  him  by  a  flash,  and  fled  ?  Blank  darkness  impedes 
his  pursuit  ;  and  all  at  once  he  stumbles. 

What's  this,  then,  lying  like  a  log  in  the  middle  of  the 
road? 

He  feels  it  with  his  hands.  He  touches  something  wet,  — 
not  the  wet  from  which  umbrellas  would  have  saved  you,  0 


LAWYER     PELT     GETS     WET.  415 

hapless  Elphaz  !  For  rain  is  cold  ;  but  this  is  a  thick  tepid 
pool.  Grood  God !  it  is  a  murdered  man  outstretched  here 
under  the  trees ! 

Elphaz,  is  it  you  ?  Answer  !  Late  so  glib  of  tongue,  are 
you  now  so  silent  ?  It  is  too  terrible  !  This  cannot  be  our 
twinkling,  lively  friend  Elphaz  ! 

Rough  Ben  Arlyn  has  seen  death  in  too  many  shapes  to  be 
very  superstitious  about  it ;  but  there  is  something  indescri 
bably  shocking  here.  A  corpse  not  yet  cold,  and  he  in  utter 
darkness  stumbling  over  it !  His  brain  is  bewildered.  The 
wheels  of  his  impetuosity  have  been  too  suddenly  blocked  by 
this  horrid  clay.  His  reason  seems  deserting  him.  He  remem 
bers  his  own  fierce  thoughts,  and  for  a  moment  dreams  that 
he  is  the  murderer  1  This  frightful  illusion  is  heightened 
wnen  once  more  the  heavens  open,  and  the  forest  is  filled  with 
a  glare  brighter  than  noonday,  showing  in  its  dazzling  in- 
tenseness  every  minute  shrub  and  twig,  the  sprinkled  dust 
of  the  road,  the  lifeless  form  outstretched,  the  blue  cravat 
rumpled,  and  the  ghastly,  staring  features,  cross-eyed  even 
in  death. 


416  THE     NIGHT     VISIT. 


xxxvn. 

THE  NIGHT  VISIT. 

T  is  even  so :   fretting,  scheming,  overreaching, 
it  has  come  to  this. 

Stark  and  still  he  lies  there,  unconcerned ; 
assaulted,  and  he  will  not  prosecute ;  indifferent  alike  to  his 
clients'  interests  and  his  own ;  what  was  so  absorbing  an  hour 
ago  —  fees,  stratagems,  riches,  revenge  —  of  no  importance 
now ;  the  grand  new  house  he  was  building,  henceforth  of  no 
use  to  him  ;  as  well  off  on  the  ground  there  as  anywhere,  — 
six  feet  of  blank  earth  quite  sufficient ;  deaf  to  the  thunder, 
blind  to  the  lightning ;  not  at  all  in  danger  of  catching  cold  ; 
done  with  umbrellas  forever  ;  what  is  called  DEAD.  How  does 
it  seem  to  you,  Elphaz  ?  Do  you  sneer  at  honesty  now,  or 
chuckle  at  your  start  in  the  world  ? 

Dead  :  his  horse  tears  the  buggy  to  splinters  in  the  woods, — 
the  damage  and  expense  will  certainly  be  considerable,  —  and 
he  cares  nothing  !  Dead :  his  most  powerful  dread  enemy 
stands  over  him,  and  he  fears  nothing.  Dead  :  as  it  is  the  des 
tiny  of  each  to  be,  if  not  at  one  time,  then  at  another  time ;  if 


THE     NIGHT      VISIT.  417 

not  in  one  fashion,  then  in  some  other  fashion.  And  what 
is  the  great  difference  ?  A  few  years  more  or  less  of  dream 
ing  selfish  dreams,  and  of  grasping  emptiness,  —  are  they  of 
such  wonderful  importance  ?  Dead  :  and  is  this  the  end  ? 
What  do  you  think  of  it,  Elphaz  ? 

Some  such  thoughts  whirl  chaotic  in  Ben  Arlyn's  breast. 
Not  a  reflecting  man,  but  a  man  of  passion  and  instinct  rath 
er,  with  a  heart  much  huger  than  his  brain,  —  still,  on  this 
occasion,  he  is  shocked  into  moralizing,  and  grapples,  in  a 
rode,  blind  way,  with  the  giant  phantoms, —  the  vast  shadowy 
questions  of  life  and  death  and  the  hereafter.  And  what 
is  it  to  hate  a  man  ?  and  to  have  him  dead  —  where  is  the 
satisfaction  ?  His  emotions  roll  through  him  like  the  thun 
der  ;  and  the  gleams  of  light  he  has  on  these  vague  subjects 
are  like  the  sharp-edged  lightnings  that  divide  momentarily 
the  darkness,  and  let  it  close  again. 

"God!  God!  God!"  he  calls,  flinging  up  his  clinched 
hands,  and  wringing  them  helplessly,  hopelessly,  overwhelmed 
with  his  wrongs,  his  griefs,  his  baffled  rage  against  this  very 
man,  and  his  awful  doubts.  Then  he  laughs  a  ghastly  laugh, 
as  the  thought  suggests  itself,  —  the  jeering  thought,  — 
"  What  so  curious  as  a  dead  lawyer?"  There  should  be 
something  sacred  and  venerable  about  a  dead  saint ;  for  he 
has  lived  a  life  in  this  sphere  which  will  flow  on  serenely  and 
blissfully  in  the  spheres  beyond.  But  a  crafty  lawyer  ! — ha, 
ha,  ha !  The  laugh  sounds  fearfully  in  the  stormy  forest. 
27 


418  THE     NIGHT     VISIT. 

It  is  evident  that  the  poor  man's  sufferings  and  shocks  have 
been  too  much  for  him,  and  that  his  reason  is  unsettling. 

The  evening  wears  on  ;  and  all  this  time  one  sits  watching. 
The  dead  man  there,  the  frantic  father  here,  the  hands  yonder 
eagerly  clasping  the  gold,  the  deed  that  has  been  done,  —  all 
these  come  near  her  own  heart  and  life  :  but  she  sits  in  the 
chamber,  unconscious,  scarce  aware  of  the  thunder,  or  the 
hissing  rain,  or  the  tempest  tearing  the  trees  ;  her  whole  soul 
in  her  eyes,  and  her  eyes  watching  her  babe. 

It  lies  softly  pillowed  on  the  lounge.  It  is  asleep.  Slow 
ly  and  faintly  it  breathes.  Its  little  face  is  very  sad  and 
pale.  It  is  ill ;  and  maybe  it  will  die,  the  mother  thinks. 
Therefore  with  anguish  such  as  only  those  can  know  who  have 
loved  a  babe,  and  felt  it  was  their  all,  and  that  even  this  one 
precious  lamb  might  soon  be  taken  from  them,  —  her  eyes 
dry,  but  her  heart  full  of  hot  tears,  — Lucy  gazes  on  that 
darling  face. 

And  now  the  footsteps  seldom  heard  of  late  ascend  the 
stairs  quickly ;  and  drenched  and  breathless,  from  the  wild 
warfare  of  the  elements,  Guy  enters  the  room.  There  is  a 
gleam  of  excitement  in  his  face  as  he  shakes  the  water  from 
his  cap ;  but  it  yields  place  to  an  expression  of  pain  and  anx 
iety  when  his  eyes  rest  upon  the  mother  and  the  babe.  She 
does  not  look  up  at  him,  her  heart  is  so  full. 

"Lucy!  what  is  the  matter?"  He  bent  over  the  pale, 
sad  little  face,  —  oh,  so  sad  !  —  for,  indeed,  what  is  there  so 
touchingly  pitiful  as  infancy  —  tender,  innocent  infancy  — 


THE     NIGHT     VISIT.  419 

stricken  with  silent  suffering?  "  Sick  ?  "  and  he  knelt  down 
by  its  side  ;  affection  and  pity  mastering  his  strong  nature ; 
and  all  his  wrongs,  real  or  fancied,  towards  the  mother  and 
the  child,  burning  and  stinging  him.  If  it  should  die  now, 
would  it  not  be  through  his  neglect  ?  He  shook  with  a  silent 
convulsion;  and  tears,  which  she  could  not  shed,  rushed 
to  his  eyes. 

"0  Guy!"  she  burst  forth  desolately,  "what  have  I 
done  ?  Haven't  I  suffered  enough  ?  I  cannot,  I  will  not,  let 
this  darling  go  !  "  —  clasping  it  wildly.  "  Is  there  no  kind 
Father?  is  there  only  a  cruel  Fate?  "  And  in  her  look  was 
what  he  had  never  seen  there  before, — rebellion  against 
Providence.  Be  not  shocked  :  such  is  the  human  heart. 
The  Thracians,  in  old  times,  drew  up  in  battle  array  against 
the  thunderbolts  of  heaven,  shooting  their  arrows  into  the 
clouds.  Why  smile  at  their  idle  resistance  to  the  gods? 
Have  you  never,  Christian  man  or  woman,  arrayed  your 
will  against  impending  afflictions  ? 

"  We  know  there  is  a  Father,"  said  Guy.  "  We  will  not 
madly  question  :  we  will  hope." 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  say  that !  —  you,  who  are  all  absorbed 
in  other  things  !  "  —  and  Lucy  selfishly  held  the  babe  from 
him. 

"  Has  the  doctor  seen  it?  "  he  asked. 

"No:  I  have  nobody  to  send.  Mrs.  Hedge  works  so 
bard,  —  she  has  to  support  us  all  now  :  Jehiel  gets  no  money. 
0  Guy !  why  do  you  drag  them  into  your  ruin,  if  you  will 
persist  in  ruining  yourself?  " 


420  THE     NIGHT     VISIT. 

The  young  reformer  held  his  face  in  his  hands.  What 
could  he  answer  her?  He  felt  that  all  her  predictions 
concerning  his  associates  and  their  schemes  had  thus  far 
come  true  ;  and  he  had  nothing  to  oppose  to  her  bitter  com 
plaint. 

"  I  told  Jehiel  he  should  be  paid.  I  would  have  perilled 
my  soul  to  keep  my  promise  ;  and  I  have  kept  it." 

"  Have  you  paid  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  have  come  to  pay  him ;  "  and  Guy  produced 
a  heavy  little  bag.  Either  his  dark  words,  or  the  unexpected 
sight,  alarmed  Lucy. 

"  What  is  that?  " 

"Gold,  — the  price  of  my  farm.  0  gold,  gold!"  he 
said,  crushing  the  words  in  his  teeth,  "bait  of  hell !  ruin  of 
souls  !  I  hate  you  !  Where  is  Jehiel  ?  " 

"He  hasn't  come,*'  said  Lucy,  staring  at  him  with  dis 
may. 

"  Then  keep  this  accursed  stuff  for  me  till  morning.  I 
will  come  early,  and  pay  him."  He  dropped  it  into  a  drawer 
of  the  bureau.  "  It  is  better  out  of  my  hands  :  would  I 
could  wash  off  its  stain  forever  to-night !  "  Impulsively  he 
bathed  his  hands  at  Lucy's  pitcher.  He  turned,  and  saw  her 
eyes  still  fixed  upon  him.  "  Lucy  !  you  follow  me  with 
hard,  questioning  looks.  You  think  ill  of  me,  I  know  ;  and 
the  time  may  be  near  when  you  will  think  worse.  And  what 
have  I  to  say  for  myself?  Nothing  !  "  And  he  looked  at  his 
hands  sorrowfully. 


THE     NIGHT     VISIT.  421 

The  tempest  and  rain  lashed  the  windows ;  the  house  trem 
bled,  and  seemed  full  of  hissing  sounds.  Lucy  held  her  babe 
closer. 

"  These  are  the  nights  that  make  one's  hair  turn  gray  !  " 
said  Guy,  standing  still  in  the  room,  with  a  countenance  sur 
charged  with  troubled  thought.  "Lucy,  you  think  I  have 
not  loved  this  child  of  our  love.  God  knows !  And  your 
father  —  what  shall  you  say  to  him  of  me  ?  " 

Her  heart  was  full  of  forebodings  about  her  father's  com 
ing  ;  and  the  question  wrung  from  her  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  How  can  I  see  him, — show  him  my  fatherless  babe?  and 
yet  I  must.  And  I  will  tell  him  all,  that  he  may  not  kill 
you  !  " 

"Kill  me?"  Guy  smiled.  "If  that  would  right  all 
wrongs,  how  willingly  would  I  lay  down  my  poor  life  !  For 
I  grow  weary,  Lucy.  Yet  tell  him,  not  for  my  sake,  but 
for  his,  for  yours,  for  the  sake  of  our  little  Agnes  here,  —  God 
keep  her  !  — -  tell  him,  that,  villain  as  I  seem,  you  are  blame 
less,  /will  tell  him  that,  and  bare  my  breast  to  him.  But 
who  knows  the  future  ?  The  morrow  will  come,  and  what 
will  it  bring  ?  Hear  the  old  elm  roar  and  creak  !  Will  it 
wave  serenely  in  the  breezy  morning  ?  or  will  it  lie  conquered 
and  despoiled,  its  mighty  roots  uptorn  ?  We  will  fear  noth 
ing,  but  cheerfully  take  what  comes.  And  now  good-by  ! 
Good-by,  my  pale,  still  Agnes  !  " 

"  Will  you  go  ?  "  asked  Lucy,  "  in  this  storm  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  and  send  the  doctor  to  this  poor  little  lamb. 


422  THE     NIGHT      VISIT. 

What  are  the  wind  and  rain  to  me  ?  I  am  drenched  already. 
As  for  that  stuff,  keep  it  hid,  and  say  nothing  of  it.  It  was 
meant  that  I  should  not  have  it ;  but  I  have  it !  I  will  send 
Mrs.  Hedge  up  to  sit  with  you  :  she  will  be  better  company 
than  I  can  be  to-night." 

He  kissed  the  babe ;  he  kissed  the  mother  also,  with 
quivering  lips.  Still  he  lingered ;  for  his  heart  was  full,  and 
the  shadow  of  the  morrow  was  heavy  upon  him. 

"  The  good  Heaven  bless  you  both !  "  he  said,  and  hurried 
away,  with  a  burning  in  his  breast  which  made  it  a  relief  for 
him  to  get  out  once  more  into  the  cold  dash  and  turbulent 
uproar  of  the  storm. 

The  thunder  has  passed  on,  and  now  the  tempest  is  king. 
His  sceptre  smites  the  forest,  and  crashes  among  the  crags. 

"  The  giant-snouted  crags,  ho,  ho ! 
How  they  snort,  and  how  they  blow  I  " 

The  house-sides  are  beaten  and  buffeted  and  lashed  by  clash 
ing  boughs,  and  the  floods  of  heaven  pour  against  them  inces 
sant  whistling  volleys.  And  now  two  women  watch  and 
whisper  with  awe-hushed  lips  beside  the  sick  babe,  waiting  for 
the  absent  Jehicl,  and  for  the  physician  who  does  not  come. 

"  Oh,  they  will  let  my  baby  die  !  "  moans  the  agonized 
mother. 

"  Where  can  my  husband  be  this  awful  night  ?  "  says  the 
anxious  wife  :  so  selfish  does  love  make  us  all. 

Well  might  she  ask ;  for  Jehiel  was  having  a  somewhat  ter- 


THE     NIGHT     VISIT.  423 

rific  adventure  at  this  time.  Having  waited  long  at  Biddi- 
kin's  for  the  rain  to  cease,  he  grew  impatient,  knowing  how 
troubled  Hannah  would  be  about  him ;  and  set  out,  lame  as 
he  was,  wild  and  wet  as  the  night  was,  to  walk  home,  —  alone 
through  the  woods,  where  lay  the  murdered  man. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  horse  had  run  home  to  the  tavern, 
snorting  and  foaming  with  terror,  harness  torn  and  flying,  mi 
nus  the  vehicle ;  and  the  alarmed  landlord  had  started  with  an 
umbrella,  a  lantern,  and  a  little  boy,  to  look  for  the  missing 
traveller,  —  through  the  tempestuous  woods,  on  foot ;  for  it 
was  a  one-horse  tavern  he  kept. 

And  in  the  woods,  coming  from  opposite  directions,  Jehiel 
and  the  landlord  met,  and  found  the  lost  lawyer  stretched 
across  the  road,  with  a  gory,  ill-washed  wound  in  his  neck,  — 
in  the  dark  and  rainy  woods. 

And  the  lad  went  before  with  the  lantern  and  the  shut  um 
brella,  winking  at  the  gale  ;  and  Jehiel  and  the  landlord  fol 
lowed,  bearing  the  dead  Elphaz, — horrible  burden  !  For  thus 
the  "  whirligig  of  Time,"  which  sometimes  whirls  very  fast, 
brings  in  his  revenges.  Scarce  two  hours  ago,  Pelt  refused 
the  lame  laborer  a  ride  in  his  buggy  ;  and  now,  lo  !  the  latter 
helps  to  give  him  a  ride  in  a  very  different  fashion. 

So  they  got  the  ghastly  horror  as  far  as  Jehiel's  gate, 
where  they  met  the  doctor  in  his  chaise  coming  to  see  Lucy's 
babe.  Well,  maybe  a  dead  lawyer  is  of  more  value  than  a 
living  infant ;  at  all  events,  these  men  seem  to  decide  it  so  : 
and  the  thing  that  was  Elphaz  is  got  into  the  chaise,  and  back 


424  THE     NIGHT     VISIT. 

the  doctor  drives ;  and  the  men  go  with  it  to  the  village,  —  to 
the  tavern,  — to  Pelt's  room,  where  he  sleeps  this  night  as  he 
never  slept  before,  not  to  be  disturbed  in  the  morning  by  the 
birds  singing. 

For  the  morning  shall  come  as  usual ;  and  the  birds  shall 
sing ;  and  the  world  shall  wake  cool  and  green  and  glis 
tening  after  the  storm ;  and  sunshine  and  sweet  smells 
and  a  new  joyous  life  shall  delight  the  sense  and  soul  of 
glad  men  and  women,  and  strike  the  hearts  of  others  with  a 
dull  mockery  ;  and,  happier  than  many,  one  shall  not  awake. 


THE     MORNING     AFTER.  425 


XXXVIII. 

THE  MORNING  AFTER. 

HEN  the  tempest  had  spent  its  force,  and  the 
clouds  were  broken,  and  the  few  visible  stars 
seemed  wildly  sailing  and  hurrying ;  when  the 
young  day-child  dimpled  with  its  rosy  fingers  the  bosom  of 
the  black  nurse-mother  Night ;  when  the  cocks  crew  in  the 
sheds,  and  the  sparrow  trilled  his  ecstatic  catches  under  the 
dripping  leaves,  — then  the  widow  Brandle  was  awakened  from 
the  sleep  of  the  righteous  by  a  noisy  knocking. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  putting  her  head  out  of  the  window,  and 
showing  her  chaste  night-cap  to  the  universe. 

It  was  one  in  whose  breast  there  had  also  been  a  storm, 
which  had  now  spent  its  fury,  leaving  the  thoughts  of  his 
head  drifting  and  hurrying  like  the  clouds  and  stars. 

"  Widder  Brandle  !  I  knowed  your  house,  and  it  seemed 
to  have  a  sort  of  friendly  feeling  towards  me,"  —  the  friend 
less,  broken  man  ! 

"  Why,  bless  me !  " — and  the  night-cap  went  in  at  the  win 
dow,  and  peered  out  presently  at  the  door;  and  she  shook 


426  THE     MORNING     AFTER. 

the  wayfarer's  hand,  and  greeted  him  there  in  the  morning 
light  with  such  cordial  musical  speech  as  made  the  birds  stop 
singing  in  their  wet  covers  to  listen. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  the  rough  Benjamin  :  "  this  'ere's  a 
heartier  welcome  than  I  got  from  my  own  sister.  I  begin  to 
feel  right  again.  I've  had  a  trouble  here  !  "  — pressing  his 
brow.  "  Every  thing's  been  rolling  and  rolling  !  —  Thank 
ye,  widder  !  " 

He  tottered  into  the  chair  she  gave  him ;  and,  bending  for 
ward  to  look  at  him  by  the  yellow  candlelight,  she  felt  her 
heart  bleed  with  sympathy  for  the  unspoken  grief  that  had 
shattered  him. 

"It's  Mr.  Arlyn,  my  son,"  —  to  Archy,  who  came  rub 
bing  his  eyes  open  :  "  don't  you  know  him  ?  "  —  smilingly, 
yet  with  a  glistening  tear  and  twitching  lip. 

"  Archy,  my  boy,  it's  old  uncle  Ben,  as  you  used  to  call 
me.  Your  mother  and  me's  old  friends,  and  I  ventered  to 
call  on  her  in  a  time  of  trouble ;  for  I  know,  if  ever  there  was 
a  Christian  woman,  she's  one."  And  he  wrung  the  hand  of 
the  genius.  "  There,  widder,  don't  take  any  steps  for  me. 
I  only  jest  want  to  set  a  spell  till  I  get  myself  again  ;  then 
I'll  go." 

"  I'm  going  to  fix  a  room  for  ye,  and  have  ye  go  right  to 
bed,"  said  the  widow.  "  You  must  git  off  them  wet  clo'es 
the  fust  thing.  Been  out  all  night,  haven't  ye?  " 

"Iscurce  know  where  I've  been;  but  I've  had  a  hard 
night,  that's  sartain  !  The  town  don't  seem  what  it  did. 
How  long  has  Squire  Pelt  been  dead  ?  " 


THE     MORNING     AFTER.  427 

"  Squire  Pelt  ?  —  he  ain't  dead  !  "  exclaimed  Arcby. 

"Are  you  sure?"  said  Arlyn  with  an  earnest,  troubled 
look. 

"I'm  sure  I  see  him  driving  round  yesterday,"  replied 
Archy. 

"Well,  well!" — the  wayfarer  pressed  his  brow,  —  "I 
mustn't  let  my  mind  run  that  way  :  it  sets  me  afloat  again." 

The  room  was  soon  ready ;  and  the  widow  and  her  son  led 
the  great,  helpless,  submissive  man  into  it.  Archy  was  left 
to  perform  the  functions  of  valet ;  while  his  mother  hastened 
to  boil  the  tea-kettle,  and  prepare  some  wholesome,  warming 
drink  for  the  chilled  traveller. 

With  much  exercise  of  his  inventive  faculties,  and  a  con 
siderable  outlay  of  muscle,  the  genius  succeeded  in  getting 
the  guest  into  a  marvellously  tight-fitting  shirt  and  into  bed. 
Then  presently  came  the  widow  with  a  steaming  bowl  of 
tea. 

"  It's  yarb-tea,"  said  she  with  her  simple,  sympathizing 
smile.  "It's  the  best  thing  to  keep  a  body  from  ketchin' 
cold.  Raise  his  •  shoulders  a  little,  Archy,  so's't  he  can 
drink." 

"  Thank  ye,  Salome ;  thank  ye,  sister ;  "  and,  having  drunk, 
he  lay  down  again.  "  See  here,  Abner  :  tell  Squire  Pelt  " 
—  he  rolled  his  eyes  a  moment,  then  closed  them  with  a 
weary  groan. 

"  He  thinks  he's  to  Mis'  Pinworth's  :  he's  jest  a  little  out 
of  his  head,"  whispered  the  widow,  holding  the  bowl,  and  re 
garding  the  patient  pityingly. 


428  THE     MORNING     AFTER. 

"  Think  he  knows  about  Lucy  ?  " 

"That's  it,  depend  upon't;  and  it's  enough,  my  son,  to 
craze  any  man.  Oh,  little  do  gals  know  the  heart-breaks  they 
bring  on  others  as  well  as  themselves  when  they  go  wrong  ! 
Poor  Mr.  Arlyn  !  I  wonder  if  his  feet  don't  want  a  jug  o* 
hot  water.  I  declare,"  —  putting  her  hand  under  the  sheet, 
—  "  they're  jest  as  cold  and  clammy  !  " 

A  jug  was  soon  got ;  and  she  was  placing  it  at  his  feefc, 
when  suddenly  he  started  up. 

1 '  Lucy  !  —  where  is  she  ?  I  must  'a'  been  dreaming. 
Widder  Brandle,  ain't  it  ?  Thank  ye,  thank  ye,  widder  !  "  — 
and  the  haggard  face  tried  to  smile  gratefully.  "  Don't  take 
any  steps  for  me.  Only,  if  you  see  Lucy  "  — 

"What  shall  I  say  to  her?  "  asked  Mrs.  Brandle,  laying 
him  gently  back  upon  the  pillow. 

"  I  forgive  her,  I  forgive  her,  I  forgive  her  !  "  — and  his 
voice  broke  into  sobs. 

"  Does  she  know  you  have  come  ?  " 

"  Maybe  not.  Break  it  to  her  easy.  I  don't  feel  to  blame 
her.  She  had  no  mother  to  look  after  her.  'Twas  my  fault 
to  leave  her  as  I  did,  —  my  poor  child,  my  poor  ruined 
child!"  ,.,*V! 

He  covered  his  face  ;  and  presently  all  was  still,  and  the 
widow  stood  wiping  her  tears. 

"  Maybe  he'll  sleep  now,"  she  said,  listening  to  his  slow, 
difficult  breathing ;  "for  he's  all  wore  out.  And,  Archy,  I've 
been  thinking  I'd  better  go  and  see  Lucy." 


THE     MORNING     AFTER.  429 

"0  ma,  I  wish  you  would  !  I've  wanted  ye  to  so  many 
times  !  " 

"  Wai,  the  right  time  hadn't  come.  I'll  jest  drink  a  cup 
o'  tea,  and  go  right  over  this  morning,  the  fust  thing." 

It  is  now  full  day ;  and  the  mountains  are  glorious  with 
their  clear  cerulean  peaks,  and  floating  wreaths  of  mist  illu 
mined  by  the  sun.  A  delicious,  breezy  morning,  wonderful 
to  behold  after  such  a  night !  Peace  and  beauty  kiss  each 
other  on  the  shining  hillsides  and  by  the  fresh  showery 
groves.  But  in  the  village  ferments  an  extraordinary  excite 
ment.  The  coroner  is  here,  and  the  sheriff  comes  riding  fast, 
and  magistrates  and  lawyers  are  astir,  —  all  but  ONE.  He 
sleeps :  the  rest  are  awake,  or  think  they  are.  He  lies 
with  dollars  on  his  eyes,  which  see  not  the  glory  and  the 
peace  of  God  this  day.  And  the  rest? — alas  !  how  many, 
here  and  elsewhere,  stand  or  move,  with  dollars  on  their 
eye's,  which  never  see  the  glory  and  the  peace  of  God  ! 

"  If  you  go  'cross  lots,"  said  Archy,  "  look  out  for  Jehiel's 
plaguy  corset ! "  — meaning  the  pet-lamb,  of  molasses  memory. 

Jehiel  had  not  come  home ;  and  Lucy  had  been  up  all 
night  waiting  for  the  doctor,  who  was  waiting  for  the  morning 
in  order  to  make  his  postponed  visit ;  when  Mrs.  Brandle 
entered  the  room  where  the  mother  was  with  her  sick  babe. 

"  I  was  afraid  I  might  disturb  ye  if  I  knocked,"  she  whis 
pered  ;  "  and  Mis'  Hedge  told  me  to  walk  right  in." 


430  THE     MORNING     AFTER. 

"  0  Mrs.  Brandle  !  "  was  all  Lucy  could  say. 

"  Oh,  the  poor,  dear  thing  !  "  exclaimed  the  widow,  blinded 
by  her  tears. 

She  had  felt  some  natural  awkwardness  on  meeting  one 
who  had  shocked  the  moral  sense  of  society  and  slighted  her 
own  son.  But  at  sight  of  that  changed  face,  which  she  had 
not  seen  since  the  fatal  summer  evening,  nearly  a  year  ago, 
when  it  went  so  sweetly  and  cruelly  smiling  away  from  her 
door  along  with  Archy  and  the  flower-boxes  ;  and  at  sight 
of  the  stricken  little  innocent,  with  its  brief,  strange  history, 
and  its  young  soul  warm  from  the  bosom  of  God,  —  the  true 
woman's  sympathy  upwelled  from  the  clear  spring  of  the  wid 
ow's  heart,  sweeping  away  all  prejudice  and  all  traces  of  re 
sentment  ;  and  she  remembered  not  the  errors  or  the  sins,  but 
only  the  sufferings  and  the  needs,  of  her  sorrowing  sister- 
woman. 

"Why,  dear!"  said  she,  wiping  her  own  eyes,  "don't 
cry  !  "  .*  ; 

"It  is  so  good  of  you  to  come!  "  said  Lucy.  For  she 
felt  that  this  was  no  self-righteous  matron,  looking  coldly 
down  upon  her  distress,  but  a  neighbor  indeed,  —  simple, 
poor,  uncultured,  yet  bringing  the  golden  key  that  unlocks 
hearts  and  the  fountains  of  long-pent  tears. 

Conscience-stricken  to  think  she  had  kept  so  long  away, 
and  reading  in  the  pining  baby's  face  a  mute  piteous  reproach 
of  the  world's  condemnation,  Mrs.  Brandle  murmured  hum 
bly,  "  I'd  have  come  before ;  and  massy  knows,  if  I'd 


THE     MO  EN  ING     AFTER.  431 

thought  I  could  be  of  any  help,  I'd  have  jumped  at  the 
chance.  What  a  sweet  little  baby  !  Archy  said  it  was. 
How  long  has't  been  sick?  " 

"  Not  long :  I  didn't  think  she  was  very  sick  till  last 
night.  She  don't  cry  any  more  now.  Oh,  if  I  could  only 
hear  her  cry  as  she  used  to  !  " 

"  Well,  we  won't  worry  about  it  right  away,  I  guess," 
said  the  widow  soothingly ;  but  her  heart  was  troubled  for 
the  child.  "  The  angels  love  little  babies,  and  they'll  take 
care  on't.  Let  me  have  it  a  little  while,  and  see  if  I  can't 
give  it  some  life.  I've  a  notion  babies  need  something  be 
sides  the  breast :  they  want  a  good  strong,  healthy  natur'  to 
draw  from.  You're  too  wore  out  yourself  to  do  much  for  it 
now." 

"I  know,"  said  Lucy,  "my  suffering  has  weakened  her. 
She  has  nursed  away  my  cares,  and  I  have  given  her  sorrow 
with  my  milk." 

"  It  was  a  relief  to  you,  but  'twasn't  so  well  for  the  baby," 
softly  answered  the  widow.  "  But,  dear,  I  want  you  to  think 
of  something  else  now;  for  I've  news  for  ye." 

Lucy,  whose  spirit  was  full  of  whispering  prophecies  of  ill, 
turned  paler  than  she  was,  with  a  painful  apprehension. 

"  Yes,  dear  :  there's  a  visitor  to  my  house  that'll  be  glad 
to  see  you."  And  Mrs.  Brandle  smiled  to  re-assure  her. 

"Oh!  my  father?" 

"  Yes,  dear ;  and  he  sent  me  to  you  with  a  kind  word." 

But  Lucy  was  too  weak.     The  news,  softly  as  it  had  been 


432  THE     MORNING     AFTER. 

broken,  was  too  overpowering.  For  a  moment,  all  things 
swam  and  faded  around  her ;  but  she  did  not  swoon.  Dizzy 
and  trembling  she  sat,  while  ^he  widow  told  her  story. 

"I'll  go  —  I'll  go  to  him  at  once  !  " —  recovering  from 
her  bewilderment.  "  God  keep  me  strong,  God  keep  me 
strong  !  "  she  prayed. 

Mrs.  Brandle  was  to  stay  and  take  care  of  the  baby  until 
her  return ;  and  she  was  hurriedly  putting  on  her  things  to 
go,  when  Archy  arrived. 

"  Why,  my  son  !  —  why  didn't  ye  stop  with  him?  " 

"  He  ain't  there,"  said  Archy  with  a  doleful  countenance. 
'  'Most  as  soon  as  you  was  out  o'  sight,  he  started  up;  and, 
spite  of  every  thing,  he  would  go.  He  wore  my  shirt ; 
though,  'twas  so  small,  he  was  splitting  it  all  to  pieces.  He 
put  on  his  wet  clo'es  agin,  which  you  left  by  the  fire,  —  and 
they  hadn't  begun  to  git  dry :  said  he'd  left  some  money 
somewheres,  that  he  must  look  after." 

"  And  you  let  him  go  !  "  exclaimed  the  dissatisfied  widow. 

"  Why,  I  couldn't  help  it,  ma  !  I  found  out  he  wanted 
to  go  to  Mis'  Pin  worth's  :  so  I  helped  him,  seein'  I  couldn't 
hender  him,  and  left  him  to  the  door.  Then  I  come  to  tell 
ye  ;  though  they're  havin'  an  awful  time  in  the  village  !  " 
added  Archy,  lowering  his  voice. 

Lucy  stood  as  if  transfixed  with  her  distress. 

"  Don't  feel  too  bad,  dear ;  but  I  suppose  you  won't  feel 
like  going  to  see  him  to  your  aunt  Pin  worth's,  will  ye  ?  " 

Lucy  roused  herself :  yes,  she  would  go ;  and  kissing  the 


THE     MORNING     AFTER.  433 

unconscious  little  Agnes,  and  murmuring  to  Mrs.  Brandle, 
"  Pray  for  me  !  "  she  hastened  forth  with  her  double  grief, 
with  her  divided  anxious  love,  into  the  mockery  of  the  bright 
musical  morning. 

Oh !  how  could  the  earth  be  so  beautiful  ?  —  the  birds  deliri 
ous  with  the  joy  of  song ;  the  sky  deep  and  clear  as  a  poet's 
mind,  with  a  few  golden  voluptuous  clouds  afloat  in  it,  like 
large  dreamy  thoughts.  How  could  the  river  pour  with  so 
glad  a  rush,  and  her  heart  be  so  wretched  and  fearful  ? 

She  crossed  the  river,  and  stood  at  her  aunt's  door.  For 
the  first  time  since  she  left  it  in  the  dew  and  beauty  of  that 
other  morning  so  long  ago,  she  stood  on  the  old  familiar  steps 
with  a  sinking  and  a  heart-sickness  which  the  blithe,  bright, 
careless  girl  of  those  earlier  days  never  knew.  And  oh  !  to 
think  that  she  had  left  behind  her  a  baby  that  seemed  to  have 
been  dreamed  into  existence  since !  and  that  she  was  come 
now,  so  full  of  dread  and  shrinking,  to  meet  her  father ! 

Trembling  and  agasp  in  the  whirlwind  of  memories  and 
fears  that  beset  her,  she  lifted  the  old  brass  knocker.  It 
dropped  with  a  hollow  forbidding  clank.  No  response  from 
within ;  and  she  waited.  And  the  same  birds,  she  knew  arid 
loved  of  old  flew  and  sang  around  her,  and  the  sunshine 
slanted  just  as  it  used  to  along  the  paint-worn  piazza  floor, 
and  the  garden  smelt  as  sweet.  But  there  was  a  ghastliness 
about  it  all  that  was  more  intolerable  than  pain  ;  and  she 
knocked  again.  Presently  the  door  was  opened  about  three 
inches,  and  Mrs.  Pinworth's  face  peeped  out. 
28 


434  THE     MORNING     AFTER. 

Lucy  asked  for  her  father. 

' '  You  !  —  to  speak  of  your  father  !  You  have  no  father. 
You  don't  deserve  to  have  one,  nor  friends  either.  My 
brother  Benjamin  is  here,  and  you  have  nearly  killed 
him!" 

"  Let  me  come  in  !  let  me  see  him!  "  pleaded  Lucy. 

"  Not  in  my  house  !  —  never  in  a  respectable  house  like 
mine  !  You  have  brought  disgrace  enough  on  us  all !  Go 
away  !  Don't  come  here  again  !  " 

So  this  woman  without  sin  stoned  Lucy. 

"  You  refuse  me  ?  you  won't  let  me  see  my  father?  "  said 
the  outcast,  amazed  into  something  like  calmness.  ' '  You 
cannot,  aunt  Pinworth,  be  so  unjust !  Aunt  Pinworth,  as 
you  hope  for  mercy,  show  me  a  little  now.  Let  me  see  my 
father." 

But,  all  the  time  Lucy  was  saying  this,  the  ascetic  female 
was  saying  to  herself,  "If  she  sees  him,  she'll  work  on  his 
weak  nature,  and  get  the  money,  which  will  do  us  a  great 
deal  more  good  than  it  will  her."  For  already  her  heart  was 
set  on  inheriting  her  brother's  substance,  and  making  his 
daughter  a  perpetual  outcast.  Not  consciously  to  herself, 
perhaps ;  for  the  devil  that  tempts  is  subtle,  and  doubtless 
he  flattered  the  widow  that  she  was  acting  from  a  high  moral 
motive. 

So  the  door  was  clashed  together  in  Lucy's  face,  and  fast 
ened. 

Statue-still  she  stood,  utterly  unable  to  realize  the  harsh 


THE     MORNING     AFTER.  435 

inhuman  judgment ;  vaguely  believing  the  door  would  soon 
be  opened  to  her ;  till  she  looked,  and  saw  Sophy's  face  at  a 
window,  glancing  out  upon  her  with  an  expression  cold  and 
relentless  as  ice.  Then  she  felt  the  doom  irrevocable  ;  and 
she  turned  away. 

Back  across  the  bridge  she  went,  over  the  stream,  — 
the  singing,  dancing  stream,  —  and  through  the  village 
streets ;  walking  in  a  sort  of  trance  ;  seeing  all  things  as 
through  a  glassy  film.  The  house-fronts,  gardens,  and  even 
faces  that  stared  upon  her,  appeared  like  objects  she  had 
known  in  dreams.  The  crowd  around  the  tavern,  as  she 
passed,  was  but  a  crowd  of  gibbering  phantoms,  with  neither 
sense  nor  soul  in  common  with  her;  and  the  phantom  that 
started  out  before  her  —  a  red-headed  phantom,  fawning  and 
rubbing  its  hands  —  floated  in  an  atmosphere  of  unreality 
like  the  rest. 

"  Perty  exciting  time,  Miss  Arlyn  :  I  suppose  you  wouldn't 
like  to  go  in  and  see  the  corpse,  would  ye  ?  " 

The  questioning  look  and  words  came  to  her  vague  and 
strange  through  the  glassiness  of  things.  What  corpse  ? 

"Haven't  you  heard  —  how  Squire  Pelt  was  murdered 
last  night,  — robbed  of  a  heap  of  gold  ?  " 

The  stroke  of  the  announcement  rent  the  film  a  little  ;  and 
startling  light,  swift,  electric  memory,  streamed  in  upon  Lucy, 
shocking  her  back  into  consciousness. 

"  Murdered  ?  —  gold  ?  "  —  she  repeated  with  white  lips. 

Just  then,  young  Biddikin  swaggered  to  the  spot. 


436  THE     MORNING     AFTER. 

"  Such  a  row  over  a  dead  man  !  Lots  of  cheap  talk. 
Hear  the  robins  over  in  the  orchard  there  !  They  make 
me  laugh  !  '  Kill  him,  cure  him,  give  him  — physic  !  ' 
They  say  it  jest  as  plain  !  They're  inclined  to  make  a  joke 
of  Elphaz."  And  Mad  spat  cynical  tobacco-juice. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  come  to  town  early  this  morning,  Bid- 
dikin,"  said  Abner  cringingly,  fingering  his  memorandum- 
book. 

"  Whose  business  is't?  "  Mad  retorted,  opening  his  jack- 
knife.  "  I  wanted  to  see  the  sport.  We  don't  have  a  mur 
der  every  day.  Hear  them  robins  !  '  Give  him  — physic  !  ' 
Can't  help  laughing  !  "  and  he  picked  up  a  stick  to  whittle. 

He  whittled  ;  while  Abner  turned  his  back,  and  slyly  made 
a  note  of  something.  Lucy  in  the  mean  time  stood  waiting 
for  she  knew  not  what,  spell-bound  by  the  new  terror  which 
had  come  over  her. 

"  They  found  a  pistol  up  in  the  road  there  this  morning, 
when  they  went  to  look,"  said  Abner,  chewing  his  pencil. 
"  They  say  it's  one  of  Colonel  Bannington's  pistols,"  —  with 
a  cunning  side-glance  at  Lucy. 

"  See  here  !  "  cried  Mad  in  a  bullying  way  :  "  I  know 
about  that  pistol.  I  was  coining  down  the  road  when  they 
found  it." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know?  "  Abner  softly  and  persuasive 
ly  inquired,  with  his  note-book  ready. 

"  Any  fool  might  know  !  "  said  Madison.  "  Ain't  it  plain 
as  day  ?  Pelt  was  going  to  sell  Bannington's  farm  for  him, 


THE     MORNING     AFTER.  437 

and  borrowed  Bannington's  pistol ;  'cause  'twouldn't  be  safe 
to  be  carrying  so  much  money  through  the  woods  in  the 
night,  ye  know." 

"  The  pistol  had  been  fired  off,"  observed  Abner  over  his 
shoulder,  after  scratching  a  few  hasty  words. 

"  Wouldn't  Pelt  be  apt  to  fire  ?  "  returned  Mad.  "  Of 
course  he  would,  and  drop  his  pistol  after  he  got  shot  him 
self.  You  don't  suppose  the  man  that  shot  him  would  drop 
his  pistol  right  there,  do  ye?  Though  he  might, — these 
Dutchmen  are  such  cussed  fools." 

"  Oh  !  then  you  think  the  Dutchmen  follered  him  up?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  I  did.  But  who  else  knew  he  had  the 
money?  " 

"  Well,  some  knew,"  simpered  Abner.  "  And  it  remains 
to  be  seen  whether  the  Banningtons  lent  the  squire  a  pis 
tol." 

"  If  they  didn't,  then  he  took  it,  most  likely,"  muttered 
Mad.  "  He'd  as  soon  steal  a  thing  as  borrow  it,  Pelt  would. 
—  Darn  it !  "  and  he  flirted  blood  from  his  thumb,  which  he 
had  whittled  instead  of  the  stick. 

"  They've  gone  over  to  the  colonel's  to  see  if  he  or  Guy 
knows  any  thing  about  it,"  Abner  mildly  suggested,  with  his 
back  turned. 

"  See  here  !  —  whose  words  ye  writing  down  now  ?  "  bullied 
Biddikin.  "  I  know  ye  of  old,  red-top  !  You're  in  your 
element  if  you  can  be  writing  down  something  to  swear  to. 
W'jll,  you're  welcome  to  anything  I  say.  —  Wonder  when 


438  THE     MORNING     AFTER. 

the  inquest's  going  to  set.  Hope  they'll  let  a  feller  in  to  see 
the  fun." 

"  Come  !  —  don't  flirt  your  blood  on  me,  if  you  please  !  " 
said  Abner,  with  a  cowardly  hatred  and  disgust  in  his  servile 
polite  face. 

"  Kill  him,  cure  him,  give  him — physic  /  "  —  Mad  reck 
lessly  mocked  the  robins.  "  Say,  red-top :  do  you  carry  to- 
backer?" 

Why  did  Lucy  linger  ?  What  was  this  horror  that  be 
numbed  her ;  that  made  her  for  the  moment  forget  both  her 
father  and  her  babe,  and  all  her  wrongs  and  fears  ?  The 
murdered  man ;  tho  bag  of  gold ;  Guy's  nocturnal  visit  and 
wild  words ;  the  pistol  found,  —  in  this  vortex  every  thing 
else  was  lost. 

"  There  comes  Guy,  along  with  Aaron,  now!  "  said  Ab 
ner. 

Already  she  had  descried  him  coming.  He  rode  up  to  the 
tavern-steps,  and  alighted  amid  the  crowd.  His  countenance 
was  pale  and  stony  cold  ;  inscrutable  as  a  mask.  Erect  and 
composed  ho  walked,  stared  at  by  the  vulgar ;  and  disappeared 
in  the  tavern.  Then  Lucy  broke  the  spell  that  held  her ; 
left  Abner  writing,  and  Mad  bloodying  his  stick ;  reached  home 
she  scarce  knew  how ;  flew  to  the  bureau-drawer  where  lay 
the  guilty  gold ;  saw  that  it  was  undisturbed  ;  and  then  sank 
down  swooning  beside  her  babe,  at  the  wondering  widow's 
feet. 


THE     INQUEST.  439 


XXXIX. 

THE  INQUEST. 

ND  now,  while  the  coroner  is  impanelling  his 
solemn  jury ;  while  the  news  of  the  murder 
thrills  from  house  to  house,  and  from  village  to 
village,  and  is  telegraphed  to  New  York  and  Chicago,  to  bo 
read  there  in  the  evening  papers  ;  and  the  blackbirds,  brisk 
stump-speakers,  appear  to  chatter  about  it  down  in  the  burnt 
swamp-lot ;  and  everybody  is  wondering,  and  doubtless  some 
hearts  are  quaking,  —  now,  at  twelve  o'clock,  noon,  on  the 
shady  grass  by  Biddikin's  front-door,  sits  little  poorhouse  Job, 
with  bread  and  cheese,  placidly  munching. 

At  which  time,  constable  Aaron  Burble,  having  been  to 
summon  to  the  inquest  the  German  who  paid  Pelt  his  money, 
returning,  sees  Job  sitting  on  the  grass,  with  bread  and 
cheese,  munching,  and  drives  up. 

"  Where  are  the  folks?  "  asks  Aaron. 

"  Gone,"  says  little  Job,  mildly  staring.  "  Doctor  gone 
up  on  the  mountain." 

"When  will  he  be  back?" 


440  THE     INQUEST. 

11  Do'no'.     Had  a  fight." 

"A  fight!    Who  with?" 

"  Him  and  Mad,  — they  fit;  coz  Mad  was  out  las'  night, 
and  was  goin'  off  agin  this  mornin' ;  said  he  was  goin'  to  find 
the  pistil." 

And  Job  nibbled  his  cheese,  unconscious  how  his  feeble 
words  shot  conviction  into  Aaron's  massy  brain. 

"  Come  here,  my  son."  Aaron  got  out  of  his  wagon,  and 
gave  him  a  penny.  Job  crammed  the  contents  of  his  right 
hand  into  his  mouth  in  order  to  receive  it.  "  What  was 
Mad  going  to  find  ?  " 

"  Pistil.  Shoot  birds  with.  Lost  it  in  the  woods  last 
night,"  said  Job  through  crumbs. 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Heard  him  and  doctor  fighting.  Thought  I  was  asleep," 
—  with  a  faint  twinkle  of  the  lustreless  large  eyes.  "  Mad 
struck  him." 

''Whose  pistol  was  it?" 

"  Do'no'.     Mad  had  it  ever  since  they  killed  the  bear." 

Aaron  gave  Job  another  penny  for  his  thought ;  at  which 
the  latter  delivered  over  to  his  molars  the  reserved  contents 
of  his  left  hand  (namely,  the  cheese),  and  grinned  at  the  mu 
nificent  subsidy,  —  a  copper  in  each  grimy  little  palm.  ^ 

"  What  was  Mad  doing  last  night  in  the  woods?  " 

"  Gruess  shooting  birds." 

"  Shooting  birds  in  the  night?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s !     Him  and  Mr.  Murk." 


THE     INQUEST.  441 

"  Murk  !     Where  is  Murk  now  ?  " 

"  Guess  up  on  the  mountain."  Job  started,  and  grew 
pale.  "  There  comes  doctor  !  " 

And  Biddikin,  having  entered  the  house  by  the  back  way, 
came  through,  stepping  excitedly,  banging  the  doors,  and 
fiercely  calling  Job.  Seeing  a  visitor,  he  came  out. 

"  Doctor,"  cried  Aaron  with  a  tact  he  bragged  of  after 
wards,  "  my  dear  doctor,  how  do  ye  do  ?" 

"  Broken-hearted,  broken-hearted  !  "  —  and  the  little  man 
shook  his  head  and  compressed  his  lips  with  an  expression  of 
desperate  grief. 

"  Why,  what  now,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Oh  that  son  of  mine!  I  know,  I  know  !  "  —  with 
dark  significance. 

"  Ah  !  what's  the  matter  with  your  eye,  doctor  ?  "  asked 
Aaron. 

"  Mr.  Burble,  Mr.  Aaron  Burble  !  "  said  Biddikin,  quiv 
ering  with  passion,  "  what  do  you  think  of  a  son  that  strikes 
his  own  father?  —  yes!  "  thundered  the  doctor,  "  actooally 
drors  his  fist  on  him  !  —  don't  he,  Job?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s,  seen  him  !  "  said  Job. 

"  Mr.  Aaron  Burble,  MR.  AARON  BURBLE  !  "  repeated 
Biddikin,  all  his  past  differences  with  that  gentleman  forgot 
ten  in  his  present  agitation,  "look  at  me,  sir,  —  look  at  me  ! 
Now  tell  me,  —  now  tell  me  !  Am  I  a  dorg  ?  " 

"A  dorg,  doctor!  " 

" Look  at  me  well,  Mr.  Burble  !     Am  I  a  dorg?     I  ap- 


442  THE     INQUEST. 

peal  to  you  !  Do  I  look,  do  I  act,  do  I  smell,  like  a  dorg? 
And,  sir  !  "  —  rising  to  a  climax,  —  "do  I  deserve  the  treat 
ment  of  a  dorg?" 

"  Bless  me  !  "  said  Aaron  sympathizingly,  examining  the 
doctor's  green  eye,  "  that  was  a  sorry  blow  !  " 

"  Yes,  sir  !  yes,  Mr.  Burble  !  that  were  a  sorry  blow  !  — a 
blow  that  felled  me  to  the  earth,  Mr.  Burble  !  And  for 
what  ?  for  what  ?  Because  I  desired  to  keep  him  out  of  dan 
ger  ;  yes,  out  of  danger  !  I  know  what  I  say,  I  know  what 
I  say  !  —  OUT  OF  DANGER  !  For  a  father,  a  father,  Mr.  Burble, 
will  screen  his  own  child,  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  won't  he  ? 
though  that  child  may  have  guilt  on  his  hands,  —  I  say  guilt 
on  his  hands ;  and  I  know  what  I  say  !  " 

"  Why,"  said  the  constable,  "  I  left  Mad  loafing  about  the 
village  this  morning  ' '  — 

"In  the  village?  —  in  the  village?"  cried  the  doctor, 
alarmed.  "Who  ever  heard  of  such  ordacity?  He'll  put 
his  neck  in  the  very  halter  next !  " 

"  In  the  halter,  doctor?     How  so?  " 

"  No  matter  !  "  muttered  Biddikin,  shaking  his  head  mys 
teriously.  "  I've  said  enough.  He  is  my  own  son,  my  own 
flesh,  is  Madison ! "  And,  growing  circumspect  in  his 
speech,  the  more  he  was  questioned,  the  more  provokingly 
knowing  and  obstinately  secret  he  became. 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  Aaron,  "I  am  summoning  witness 
es  ;  and  I  want  you  to  go  and  report  before  the  coroner  what 
you  have  said  to  me." 


THE     INQUEST.  443 

Biddikin  turned  pale  as  death. 

"  Said  ?     I  have  said  nothing !  —  have  I,  Job  ?  " 

"N-o-o-o!" 

"  No,  not  a  word.  It's  a  plot  against  my  son  !  Not  a 
word  have  I  —  not  a  word  can  any  man  say  against  my  son 
Madison.  He's  a  very  dutiful  boy,  an  affectionate  child; 
isn't  he,  Job  ?  Tell  the  truth,  Job  !  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  —  and  Job  counted  his  treasures  on  the  turf. 

Aaron,  however,  avowed  his  determination  to  take  both  the 
doctor  and  Job  along  with  him  as  witnesses. 

"  To  give  evidence  against  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  It  is 
horrible  !  —  it  is  inhuman  !  —  it  is  atrocious  !  —  ain't  it,  Job  ? 
Sir,  I  shall  not  go.  Here  I  stand,  —  a  rock,  a  colossus  ! 
Touch  me  at  your  peril !  " 

Upon  which,  Aaron,  laughing,  and  without  stopping  to  con 
sider  the  precise  legality  of  the  measure,  threw  his  official  arms 
about  the  rock,  the  colossus,  lifted  it  lightly,  conveyed  it 
gently,  and  placed  it  in  the  wagon.  Colossus  was  astonished; 
colossus  was  rigid  ;  refusing  to  bend  to  a  sitting  posture,  and 
showing  a  log-like  tendency  to  roll  off  the  seat,  —  a  tendency 
which  the  good-natured  constable  indulged  so  far  as  to  give 
the  adamantine  doctor  his  choice  of  position  on  the  wagon- 
bottom.  Then  taking  the  mildly  wondering  little  two-cent 
millionnaire,  with  all  his  riches,  upon  the  seat  by  his  side, 
Aaron  drove  back  towards  the  village. 

Colossus  spoke.  "  You  are  assuming  a  tremenjuous 
responsibility,  sir  !  —  tremenjuous  !  There's  papers  in  that 


444  THE     INQUEST. 

house.  It  isn't  locked.  Papers  of  immense  value  !  You 
are  responsible  for  their  safety.  You  are  laying  yourself  lia 
ble  to  the  lor  !  " 

"  Go  'long  !  "  said  Aaron,  whipping  his  nag. 

"I  —  I  am  suffering  excruciating  agonies  with  my  head 
on  this  bolt !  "  groaned  the  man  of  stone,  softening.  "  I  en 
treat  you,  Aaron  Burble  !  I  implore  you !  You  yourself 
have  a  child,"  — and  he  burst  into  tears  ;  water  flowing  from 
the  rock,  —  stricken,  not  by  Moses,  but  by  Aaron. 

The  inquest  was  in  session  at  the  tavern.  Several  wit 
nesses  had  already  been  called ;  among  them  Guy,  who  had 
identified  his  father's  pistol.  Two  stout  Germans  came  and 
testified  to  having  paid  Pelt  gold.  And  now  Aaron  brought 
in  his  special  witnesses,  —  Biddikin,  ghastly,  grim,  marked 
by  the  filial  fist ;  and  round-eyed  little  Job. 

The  doctor  was  sworn ;  but  nothing  could  be  got  out  of 
him.  He  was  ignorant;  he  was  stubborn;  he  was  mum. 
His  feelings  as  a  parent  and  his  rights  as  a  citizen  had  been 
outraged ;  and,  when  he  had  said  that,  he  closed  his  ashen 
lips. 

He  was  accordingly  set  aside  for  the  time,  and  Job  was 
put  upon  the  stand,  —  meek,  bewildered,  softly-smiling,  bottle- 
shaped  little  Job ;  and  the  inquisitorial  corkscrew  was  ap 
plied,  and  the  truth  gently  drawn. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  this  pistol?" 

"Y-a-a-s!     Mad  had  it." 

"Job,  Job!"  cried  Biddikin,  "tell  the  truth!  You 
never  sor  that  pistol,  did  you  ?  The  truth,  Job  !  " 


THE     INQUEST.  445 

"  N-o-o-o  !  "  falters  the  terrified  Job. 

Biddikin  is  sternly  ordered  to  remain  silent,  while  the  ex 
amination  proceeds.  The  old  man  utters  groan  after  groan 
as  the  little  witness  relates  what  he  knows.  Guy  leans  his 
head  heavily  upon  his  hand ;  and  Mad,  listening  in  the 
crowd  outside  the  window,  feels  his  soul  shrivel  and  wither 
within  him  like  a  leaf  touched  by  fire. 

There  was  a  whispered  consultation  :  then  Aaron  made  his 
way  to  the  door,  and  came  round  by  the  window  where  he 
had  seen  Mad  a  minute  before ;  searching  through  the  crowd. 

But  already  Mad  was  gone. 

Seized  by  an  impulse  of  fear,  he  walked  swiftly  up  the 
road,  and  leaped  into  a  field.  There,  skulking  behind  some 
bushes,  he  looked  back,  and  saw  Aaron  whipping  after  him 
in  his  wagon.  No  doubt  he  had  been  observed.  His  present 
retreat  was  unsafe.  Panic-struck,  he  ran  first  to  Jehiel's  or 
chard  ;  then  to  the  house ;  then  up  the  stairs,  and  into  Lucy's 
room. 

The  widow  was  absent  at  the  moment.  Lucy  was  alone 
with  her  babe.  She  started  up  in  affright,  and  confronted  her 
wild  visitor.  Mad  shut  the  door  behind  him,  and  whispered 
hoarsely,  his  eyes  redly  gleaming,  — 

''Hide  me,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

"Hide  you?"  repeated  the  terrified  girl  in  an  agony  of 
apprehension. 

"  Guy  is  just  as  much  in  it  as  I  am  !  "  he  hurriedly  ex 
claimed.  "  If  they  get  me,  they'll  get  him.  —  Damnation  ! 


446  THE     INQUEST. 

the  buggy  has  stopped  !  Show  ine  a  hiding-place  !  "  he  add 
ed  menacingly. 

"O  Heaven!"  she  cried  wildly,  "what  can  I  do?" 
She  thought  of  the  gold.  "  You  should  not  have  come  here  ! 
Go,  go  !  —  you  endanger  all  !  " 

"  That's  what  I  do !  "  he  replied  with  a  ferocious  laugh. 
"  If  I  hang,  all  hang!" 

Heavy  footsteps  were  heard  below. 

Mad  drew  his  knife.  "Blood  will  run  first,  though! 
Let  him  come  !  " 

Aaron  was  already  on  the  stairs.  Lucy  had  but  an  instant 
to  act.  Hide  the  fugitive  she  could  not ;  yet  save  him  she 
would,  for  Guy's  sake.  She  hushed  him  with  a  gesture. 
"  Here  !  "  she  whispered,  springing  to  a  window,  and  flinging 
it  open.  A  branch  of  the  butternut-tree  that  shaded  it  was 
within  reach.  Mad  thrust  his  open  knife  into  his  pocket, 
grasped  the  limb,  dragged  himself  through  the  casement,  and 
slipped  down  the  trunk. 

Aaron  entered  the  room  just  in  season  to  see  him  dash 
across  the  brook  into  the  woods. 


THE   COMING   MAN  AND   HIS   DISCIPLE.        447 


XL. 

THE  COMING  MAN  AND  HIS  DISCIPLE. 

•">•  X  ' 

IGH  on  a  throne  of  mountain  rubbish,  Murk  ex 
alted  sat.     At  his  feet  yawned  the  craggy  mouth 

and  insatiable  gullet  of  that  everlasting  bore,  the 
shaft.  He  was  alone,  and  heavily  contemplative ;  the  miners, 
at  news  of  the  murder  and  the  loss  of  the  gold  with  which 
they  were  to  be  paid,  having  deserted  in  a  body,  strangely 
regardless  of  the  interests  of  humanity  hinging  on  the  work. 
Only  Jack  the  crow  remained,  perched  on  the  idle  windlass, 
and  mournfully  inquiring  ever  and  anon,  — 
"  Where's  Biddikin  ?" 

To  which  corvine  observation  the  philanthropist  deigned  no 
response.  What  was  he  meditating,  sitting  there  with  his 
nose  between  his  knees,  gazing  so  steadily  ?  Was  he  rapt  in 
humanitary  yearnings ;  lost  in  that  love  so  universal  and  ten 
der,  that  it  would  not  suffer  him  to  harm  even  a  mosquito,  — 
unless  it  was  "  necessary  "  ?  Was  he  contemplating  his  mes- 
siahship,  and  dreaming  of  future  followers  ?  or  was  it  one 
of  those  moments  of  doubt  to  which  even  the  greatest  are  sub- 


448        THE   COMING   MAN  AND  HIS  DISCIPLE. 

ject  ?  for  the  face  of  him  was  troubled.  Under  his  eye,  in  a 
chink  of  the  embankment,  waved  a  little  glimmering  cobweb, 
woven  there  by  a  small  brown  spider,  to  whose  shrewd  needle" 
point  wit  the  work  no  doubt  appeared  prodigious,  —  the  one 
great  affair  of  the  universe.  And  did  the  human  spider  perceive 
that  this  was  but  a  type  of  his  own  fine-spun  theories ;  that, 
though  he  schemed  to  take  in  the  whole  world  in  his  philoso 
phy,  he  had  spanned  but  the  narrowest  crevice,  and  entan 
gled  but  one  or  two  poor  flies,  while  the  deep  solid  facts  of 
life  lay  all  around  him,  mountainous,  unfathomed,  and  un 
touched  ? 

No,  ye  scoffers!  Murk  saw  no  such  thing.  Himself  the 
great  pivotal  mind  of  the  age,  the  patriarch  of  the  new  divine 
order,  the  coming  man  that  had  come,  —  this  he  saw  most 
fixedly ;  and  still  believed  that  his  messiahship  was  just  the 
thing  for  this  planet,  if  it  could  only  be  made  to  work.  At 
the  same  time,  he  perceived  that  difficulties  were  growing  com 
plicated  and  dangerous.  And  so  the  face  of  him  was  trou 
bled  ;  and  at  the  sound  of  footsteps  he  gave,  it  must  be  owned, 
an  unphilosophical  start. 

Peace,  0  patriarch  !  Steady,  pivotal  mind !  Fear  not, 
Moses  Murk  !  The  comer  is  thy  fly,  thy  disciple ;  in  other 
words,  Mad  Biddikin. 

'  'What  tidings,  my  son?" 

From  thridding  the  woods,  from  scaling  the  mountain-side, 
fiery-hot  and  panting,  the  youth  flung  himself  down  under  the 
embankment. 


THE   COMING   MAN  AND  HIS  DISCIPLE.       449 

"  Is  he  coming?  "  he  whispered,  turning  up  his  glittering 
inflamed  eyes  at  the  philanthropist. 

Murk,  from  his  throne  of  rubbish,  could  discern  no  one ; 
and  Mad,  recovering  breath  and  audacity,  related  in  few 
rapid  words  his  adventure,  and  what  led  to  it. 

"  Now,  where's  your  spirits,  your  powers?"  he  scoffed. 
"  They've  got  us  into  a  scrape  :  now  let's  see  'em  get  us  out 
of  it !  " 

The  soul  of  Moses  seemed  to  sweat  inwardly  for  a  minute 
•with  strong  perturbation.  Then  the  old  fishy  shine  came  into 
his  eyes,  and  the  dull  self-satisfied  gleam  into  his  face. 

"  My  son,  we  did  what  seemed  necessary.  Whatever  is, 
is  right :  let  that  comfort  you.  We  shall  be  taken  care  of, 
my  son." 

"  Yes,  with  a  vengeance  !  "  blasphemed  the  disciple.  "  I 
only  wish  we  had  that  gold,  and  could  once  get  clear  of  this 
cussid  town." 

"  That  might  be  well,"  said  the  philanthropist  after  an 
other  soul-sweating  moment.  "  When  Moses  had  smitten  the 
Egyptian,  he  fled  to  Midian.  I  see  in  those  events  my  own 
history  and  mission  shadowed  forth  very  remarkably.  I  am 
clearly  the  Moses  of  the  latter-day  Exodus,  to  lead  the  world 
out  of  spiritual  bondage.  I,  too,  was  an  adopted  son ;  and  it 
was  with  peculiar  significance  that  the  name  was  given  to  me. 
MO-YSES,  —  '  drawn  out  of  the  water.'  I  fell  into  a  tub 
of  suds  when  I  was  beginning  to  creep,  and  was  drawn  out. 
Though'!  think  there  is  an  interior  meaning  to  that :  the  wa- 

29 


450        THE   COMING  MAN  AND  HIS  DISCIPLE. 

ters  signify  worldliness,  from  which  I  was  early  rescued,  and 
set  apart  for  this  work.  Swedenborg  corroborates  !  "  —  with 
a  sallow  smile,  wagging  his  fist. 

"  Swedenborg  be  blowed  !  "  said  the  disciple.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  understand  yourself  what  you're  talking  about. 
But  I  know  one  thing :  if  you  are  Moses,  there's  an  Aaron 
coming  !  "  —  Mad's  excitement  bursting  out  into  savage  hilar 
ity.  "  '  Says  Aaron  to  Moses,  Le's  cut  off  our  noses  ;  says 
Moses  to  Aaron,  It's  the  fashion  to  wear  'em ! '  But  I 
swear,  if  you  want  to  keep  in  fashion,  and  carry  that  exten 
sive  fly-roost  round  with  you  much  longer,  you'd  better  think 
of  something  else  just  now,  and  shut  down  on  that  humbugging 
cheap  talk  !  —  See  any  one  ?  ' '  and  Mad  cautiously  got  up 
from  the  rubbish  where  he  had  been  whitening  his  flanks,  and 
peered  over  the  embankments. 

"  It  seemed  advisable  to  intrust  the  chief  with  the  gold, — 
for  I  had  not  yet  assumed  my  authority,  —  though  it  might 
be  well  if  we  had  it  now,"  said  the  philanthropist.  "  Cannot 
we  conceal  ourselves  until  the  means  of  flight  present  them 
selves?" 

"  There  never  was  such  a  chance  to  hide,"  said  Mad.  "  I 
can  take  you  to  places  down  among  the  rocks  where  we  could 
live  weeks,  and  never  get  found,  if  we  only  had  plenty  of 
fodder." 

"  Indeed,  fodder,  as  you  playfully  term  it,  will  be  highly 
necessary,"  observed  the  philanthropist;  for  he  had  not 
dined,  and  the  sun  was  going  down  upon  his  fast. 


THE   COMING  MAN  AND  HIS  DISCIPLE.       451 

"  We  can  slip  into  the  house  to-night,  and  get  some.  I 
•wish  I  knew  where  that  constable  is !  Can  you  run,  Moses  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  remarkably  gifted  legs,"  Murk  admitted. 

"But  there's  one  thing:  if  he  comes  alone,  we'll  be 
enough  for  him.  We'll  chuck  him  into  this  hole,  and  pile  in 
rocks  onto  him." 

"I  am  impressed  that  we  had  better  be  looking  for  the 
places  of  refuge  you  tell  of." 

"  Well,  then,  come  !  " —  and,  after  some  circumspection, 
Mad  hurried  the  philanthropist  down  the  ledges  to  the  crags. 
They  stealthily  neared  the  verge  to  avoid  discovery  from  be 
low,  and  looked  over  the  frightful  precipice.  "  There,  down 
in  them  rocks,"  said  Mad.  "  Toiler  me." 

"  But  will  it  be  possible  to  descend  here?  "  asked  Murk, 
somewhat  aghast  at  the  prospect. 

"  We  must !  We  can  slide  down  on  our  bellies  behind 
the  crag  till  we  get  into  the  bushes  there ;  then  we  can't 
be  seen,  above  or  below.  Do  as  I  do.  Feet  first." 

"  Hold  !  "  said  the  philanthropist,  "  There  is  surely  a 
brother  !  " 

"  Where  ?  "  —  and  Mad  put  his  chin  over  the  angle  of  the 
crag  to  look,  and  discovered  far  down,  by  the  blocks  of  the 
ice-bed,  a  form  which  even  at  that  distance  could  be  identified 
by  a  keen  eyesight. 

The  "  brother  "  was  Aaron  Burble. 

"  He's  looking  for  me  !  "  Mad  muttered.  "  If  I  had  a 
Minie  rifle,  I'd  wipe  him  out ! " 


452       THE   COMING  MAN  AND  HIS  DISCIPLE. 

"  It  may  be  necessary  to  advance  him  to  higher  spheres," 
was  the  dry  response  ;  which,  in  the  patriarch's  dialect,  meant 
precisely  what  Mad's  slang  meant ;  namely,  to  make  Rhoda 
Burble  a  widow. 

"  There  !  —  he's  going  into  the  timber !  Think  he's  seen 
us?" 

"Let  us  withdraw,"  said  Murk.  "Without  especial  aid 
from  my  divine  guides,  I  could  never  descend  the  precipice 
alive.  I  am  impressed  to  return  to  the  shaft.  There  I  will 
open  up  to  you  some  ideas  on  the  subject  of  our  dilemma, 
which  will  be  edifying." 

And,  hastening  back  over  the  ledges  on  his  not  remarkably 
gifted  legs,  he  sat  down  by  the  windlass,  and  unfolded  his  plan 
of  the  campaign,  which  we  will  not  stop  to  consider  now. 

"  I  perceive,"  he  then  added,  "  that  all  that  has  been  done 
thns  far  has  been  needful.  The  chief  was  to  be  displaced  : 
and  it  may  be  necessary  that  he  should  suffer  a  change  at 
the  hands  of  the  law ;  "  i.e.,  be  hung.  "  How  our  work  here 
is  to  be  resumed,  and  the  treasure  secured,  I  do  not  yet  see 
clearly;  but  the  way  will  doubtless  be  opened."  And  he 
thoughtfully  rubbed  the  Mosaic  nose. 

"  Gammon  !  "  said  Mad  in  great  disgust.  "  I  tell  ye, 
this  thing  is  played  out.  About  the  other  business :  I'll  do  it, 
if  you  say  so." 

"  It  seems  to  me  best ;  for  I  can  never  trust  my  limbs  over 
the  precipice,"  replied  Moses. 

And  they  proceeded  to  put  his  plan  into  execution. 


THE    SEARCH-WARRANT.  453 


XL! 

THE  SEARCH-WARRANT. 

TJCY  had  scarcely  recovered  from  the  agitation 
of  dismissing  Mad  through  the  window,  and  of 
meeting  Aaron ;  she  had  just  soothed  her  babe 
into  rest,  and  lain  down  beside  it  on  the  bed,  —  when  Mrs. 
Hedge  came  rushing  in. 

"Lucy!  Lucy!  " 

The  anxious-hearted  girl  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant ; 
and  her  looks  asked  the  question  which  her  lips  failed  to  pro 
nounce,  —  What  had  happened  ? 

"  They  have  come  to  search  the  house  !  " 

Who  ?  The  sheriff  and  two  others.  For  what  ?  Hannah 
did  not  know  ;  and  she  had  no  time  for  conjecture,  for  already 
they  were  mounting  the  stairs. 

But  Lucy  knew  too  well ;  and  for  a  moment  her  very  soul 
was  darkened.  Then  as  suddenly  a  vivid  light  flashed  upon 
her,  —  the  light  of  love  and  duty.  The  one  thought,  the  one 
supreme  resolve,  TO  SAVE  THE  FATHER  OF  HER  CHILD,  swept 
into  oblivion  every  thing  else,  —  pain,  feebleness,  fear,  the 


454  THE    SEARCH-WARRANT. 

memory  of  irreparable  wrongs,  —  and  concentrated  all  her 
strength,  all  the  faculties  of  body  and  soul,  in  the  swift  act 
of  the  instant. 

"Keep  them  —  one  minute!  Go!"  She  thrust  Mrs. 
Hedge  from  the  room,  and  shut  the  door. 

And  now,  while  Mrs.  Hedge  is  speaking  to  the  officers,  as 
only  a  woman  can  speak,  of  the  sick,  the  very  sick  babe,  and 
of  the  suffering  young  mother,  and  entreating  them  to  dis 
charge  their  duty  with  all  gentleness,  we  may  glance  at  the 
cause  of  the  search. 

It  was  after  Job  had  given  his  evidence,  and  Mad  had  es 
caped,  that  the  heart  of  Biddikin  succumbed  under  the  press 
ure  of  circumstances.  Then,  placed  once  more  under  oath,  — 
confessing  a  little,  and  trying  to  conceal  more,  —  in  his  dis 
traction,  seeing  no  other  way  to  save  his  son,  he  turned,  and 
denounced  Guy. 

' '  HE  led  my  son  into  it ;  HE  used  the  pistol ;  HE  took  the 

gold  !       TlIERE    THE    MURDEREE    STANDS  !  " 

It  is  not  probable  that  Guy  had  up  to  this  time  escaped  sus 
picion.  His  testimony  with  regard  to  the  pistol  had  not  been 
very  satisfactory;  and  Abner's  statements  concerning  Pelt's 
business  on  the  mountain,  and  Guy's  anxiety  about  it,  had 
doubtless  prepared  many  for  this  announcement.  Guy  must 
certainly  have  been  prepared ;  for,  while  others  appeared  star 
tled  and  amazed,  he  exhibited  no  surprise,  but  with  his 
countenance  perhaps  a  shade  paler  than  before,  his  lips  slight 
ly  curling,  he  threw  at  Biddikin  a  look  in  which  indignation 
and  stern  warning  were  blended  with  contempt. 


THE    SEARCH-WARRANT.  455 

"He  who  keeps  a  private  grave  in  the  woods  should  beware 
whom  he  accuses!  " 

In  the  midst  of  the  stir  and  sensation,  these  low,  level 
words  went  straight  into  Biddikin's  soul.  Few  besides 
heard,  and  none  else  understood  them  ;  but  to  him  they  were 
a  thunderbolt.  A  chalky  pallor  whitened  his  cheeks :  he 
gasped,  he  gave  one  ghastly  look,  and  tumbled  down  in  a 
swoon.  He  was  carried  out. 

But  already  the  seed  was  sown.  Guy's  connection  with 
Lucy  and  with  spiritualism  had  made  him  many  enemies  : 
some  were  of  the  jury.  The  opportunity  was  eagerly  seized, 
and  he  was  called  again  upon  the  stand.  He  glanced 
around ;  he  saw  written  in  harsh  faces  a  determination  to 
press  him  hard ;  and  his  resolution  was  taken. 

"  I  decline,"  said  he,  "  to  answer  any  more  questions." 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  It  had  appeared  in  the  physi 
cian's  evidence  that  Guy  had  called  him  the  evening  before 
to  visit  Lucy's  babe  :  hence  it  was  inferred  that  he  had 
seen  her  after  the  murder.  It  was  not  deemed  expedient, 
however,  to  summon  her  before  the  jury  until  a  search  had 
been  made  for  the  gold.  The  sheriff  was  accordingly  de 
spatched  with  instructions  to  search  Jehiel's  house,  Biddikin's, 
and  Guy's  quarters  at  home.  In  the  mean  time,  Abner  was 
recalled,  —  Abner,  who  was  destined  now  to  have  all  the  de 
tails  of  his  infidelity  to  Elphaz,  and  his  conferences  with  Guy 
on  the  subject  of  the  land-sale,  drawn,  as  it  were,  through  the 
very  pores  of  his  skin. 


456  THE    SEARCH-WARRANT. 

Jehiel's  house  was  the  first  one  visited  by  the  search-war 
rant.  The  sheriff,  accompanied  by  an  assistant,  entered  Lu 
cy's  room.  She  had  rightly  divined  then*  business ;  and 
there  she  sat,  pale,  silent,  drooping  over  her  babe,  which  she 
held  upon  her  breast. 

At  sight  of  her,  the  officer's  heart  was  touched.  He  spoke 
to  her  kindly ;  for  he  remembered  that  he,  too,  had  watched 
by  a  dying  infant,  and  witnessed  a  mother's  affliction  in  his 
own  home. 

Lucy  scarcely  seemed  to  observe  the  intruders.  She  be 
trayed  not  the  least  interest  in  the  search,  nor  once  lifted  her 
eyes,  but  kept  them  fixed  upon  her  baby's  face,  with  a  look 
of  love  and  anguish  pitiful  to  see. 

"  I'll  just  trouble  you  to  rise,"  said  the  sheriff. 

She  stood  upon  her  feet,  holding  the  babe  to  her  breast ; 
then  sat  down  again,  hushing  and  soothing  it  as  it  began  to 
worry. 

The  search  was  thorough  in  both  the  rooms ;  but  it  was 
conducted  in  silence.  No  gold  was  to  be  found. 

The  officers,  apparently  not  much  disappointed,  nor  sorry 
to  withdraw,  took  their  leave.  She  heard  them  going  down 
the  stairs ;  but  she  had  hardly  dared  to  congratulate  herself 
that  it  was  all  over,  when  she  heard  footsteps  again  approach 
ing.  The  door  had  been  left  open.  She  was  trembling  with 
apprehensions  of  discovery  which  she  had  not  felt  before, 
when  a  voice  spoke,  —  a  hesitating  voice,  — 

"Is  ma  here?" 


THE    SEARCH-WARRANT.  457 

"  0  Arcby  !  come  in  !  "  and  the  genius  sidled  into  the 
room.  "  Shut  the  door  !  "  He  obeyed,  and  stood  twisting 
his  hat-brim,  and  looking  bashfully  at  the  floor,  remarking 
that  he  didn't  see  ma  nowheres.  "  She  went  home  at  noon," 
said  Lucy.  "  She  promised  to  come  again  this  evening. 
But,  Archy,  are  you  sure  I  can  trust  you  ?  " 

"Trust  me!"  echoed  the  genius,  raising  his  eyes  almost 
reproachfully.  "You  know,  if  there's  anything  I  can  do 
for  ye"  — 

"  Yes,  I  do  know ;  and  I  will  trust  you  with  a  secret  that 
I  wouldn't  have  another  person  in  the  world  suspect.  Come 
to  me  to-night,  after  dark.  Tell  your  mother  I  shall  not 
want  her  till  to-morrow.  0  Archy,  you  can  help  me  so 
much  !  for  there  is  no  one  else  I  dare  to  ask." 

Archy  promised  to  do  faithfully  all  she  wished.  Then  he 
was  going ;  but  she  detained  him  with  a  question  which  she 
dreaded  to  speak,  and  trembled  to  have  answered,  —  the 
news  about  Guy.  Archy  scratched  his  head,  and  tried  to 
soften  his  words  before  uttering  them  ;  but  her  burning  eye 
was  on  him.  She  would  have  the  truth,  the  bare  truth,  at 
once. 

"Wai,  ye  see,  they  had  up  Doctor  Biddikin,  —  old  fool, 
don't  know  beans  !  "  premised  Archy.  "  He  says  Guy  done 
it,  —  you  know  what,  —  and  took  the  gold.  After  that,  Guy 
was  a  little  riled,  I  guess ;  for  he  wouldn't  answer  a  single 
question.  They've  got  Abner  swearing  now ;  and  he's  tell 
ing  all  he  knows,  and  more  too, — how  Guy  said  he  didn't 
vally  Pelt's  life,  but  meant  to  have  the  gold  anyhow." 


458  THE    SEARCH-WARRANT. 

Lucy  heard  unflinchingly.     "  And  Guy  ?  " 

"  Wai,  all  they  want  to  prove  now  is  that  he  had  the  gold. 
That  they  can't  do,  of  course,"  said  Archy.  "  But  —  they 
say  —  he'll  have  to  —  go  to  jail." 

Lucy  suppressed  a  cry,  and  clasped  closer  still  her  babe, 
bending  her  check  down  to  it  with  a  show  of  dumb  affliction 
which  quite  overmastered  Archy's  manhood. 

Then,  when  he  was  gone,  and  the  door  was  shut,  her  face 
slowly  upturned  to  heaven  with  a  mute  prayer ;  the  arms  that 
held  the  babe  relaxed ;  and,  the  folds  of  the  little  blanket 
parting,  something  rolled  out,  and  dropped  with  a  dull  chink 
upon  the  floor.  It  was  the  bag  of  gold. 


THE    GOLD.  459 


XLIL 

THE   GOLD. 

0  the  afternoon  passes ;  and  once  more  it  is 
evening.  And  now  once  more  Guy  is  riding 
southward  along  the  valley  to  the  hum  of 
wheels.  Again  old  Mount  Solomon  lies  before  him,  misty 
and  golden  in  the  sunset  and  purple  distance.  The  pond 
that  mirrored  it  so  gloriously  on  another  memorable  time 
when  he  rode  that  way  —  the  pond  is  ruffled  to-night.  Yet 
the  evening  is  calm,  oh  !  very  cool  and  calm,  after  the  day's 
feverish  business ;  and  the  gracefully  skimming  barn-swal 
lows  are  abroad,  and  the  chippering  chimney-swallows  clip 
with  their  scissor-like  wings  the  silken  air. 

"  Stop  a  moment !  "  says  Guy.  He  hearkens  to  the  spar 
row's  evening  song  :  it  recalls  unspeakable  memories,  stirring 
by  its  very  joyousness  the  depths  of  his  sad  soul. 

"Go  on !  "  he  says  to  his  companion  :  for  he  is  not  now 
riding  alone,  as  when  he  hastened,  flushed  with  love,  to  Lucy's 
arms  ;  but  the  sheriff  is  at  his  side. 


460  THE    GOLD. 

Again  the  lights  twinkle  in  the  village  at  his  arrival,  and 
the  hotel-windows  shed  a  hospitable  glow;  but  his  journey 
takes  him  farther  still  to-night,  — under  the  vast  gloomy 
brow  of  Mount  Solomon,  to  a  structure  massive- walled,  with 
windows  iron-barred.  Here  we  leave  him  to  his  reflec 
tions. 

At  the  appointed  time,  Archy  came  to  Lucy's  room,  bring 
ing  a  basket. 

"  Dandelions,"  said  he  ;  "  some  't  I  dug.  Ma  said  they'd 
be  good  for  ye  this  time  o'  year.  B 'sides,  I  thought,  if  any 
body  axed  me  what  I  come  for,  I  could  say  'twas  to  bring 
ye  some  greens."  And  he  presented  his  verdant  offering. 
"I'll  git  ye  some  reel  nice  cowslops  some  day,  'f  ye  like 
'em." 

"  0  Archy  !  I  thank  God  for  you  to-night !  "  said  Lucy. 
"  I  am  glad  you  brought  the  basket.  Hark  !  —  here  comes 
Mrs.  Hedge  !  " 

Hannah  entered  with  a  pan  to  put  the  greens  in,  and  some 
rhubarb-stalks  to  send  back  in  the  basket. 

"MasewWyour  pie-plant  had  got  along,"  remarked  the 
genius  :  "and  she'll  be  reel  glad  o'  some,  I  know  ;  for  our'n 
hain't  hardly  started  yet.  But  you  mustn't  rob  yourselves, 

you  know." 

Mrs.  Hedge  answered  in  good  neighborly  sort.  The  stalks 
were  placed  in  the  basket,  and  she  retired  with  the  greens. 

Then,  while  Archy  leaned  awkwardly  on  a  chair,  Lucy 
came  before  him,  pale,  slender,  worn-looking,  but  spirited, 


THE    GOLD.  461 

and  as  beautiful  in  his  simple  eyes  as  in  the  days  when,  for 
the  love  of  her,  he  wished  that  he  was  dead. 

"  Archy,  I  am  going  to  commit  a  dangerous  trust  into  your 
hands.  As  you  value  my  life,  be  true  to  me  !  "  And  she 
unrolled  a  napkin. 

"  Why,  what's  this  ?  —  so  all-fired  heavy ;  though  I  didn't 
mean  to  swear !  "  said  the  wondering  genius. 

"  Hush  !  nobody  must  hear.     It  is  the  gold,  Archy  !  " 

Archy  recoiled  horror-struck.  But  Lucy  placed  it  in  the 
basket,  covered  it  with  the  rhubarb,  and  directed  him  how 
to  dispose  of  it. 

"  I  don't  feel  exactly  right  about  having  any  thing  to  do 
with  that  money!  "  he  stammered. 

"Archy,  you  promised  to  help  me.  It  is  terrible  to  me. 
I  must  get  rid  of  it.  Go  across  the  fields  :  nobody  will  see 
you,  if  you  are  careful.  I  could  do  it  myself;  and  I  will, 
if  you  are  afraid." 

The  genius  hung  his  head,  weighing  the  basket  in  his 
hand,  and  the  doubts  in  his  mind.  "Wai,  I'll  go  —  for 
you,"  he  said.  And  promising,  in  case  of  the  successful 
performance  of  his  mission,  to  return  that  way,  and  whistle 
under  her  window,  he  set  out,  lighted  down  the  stairs  by 
Lucy  holding  a  lamp  at  the  top. 

It  was  a  clear,  moonless  night  when  Archy  crept  out  from 
under  the  door-yard  trees,  and  stood  with  a  beating  heart 
beneath  the  constellations,  — Bootes  guiding  his  starry 
hounds,  and  the  diamonds  brightening  in  Berenice's  dusky 


462  THE    GOLD. 

hair.  And  all  was  still ;  and  with  a  touch  of  the  old  poig 
nant  grief,  as  he  remembered  how  once  before,  by  night,  he 
went  in  Lucy's  service  to  the  house  of  his  rival,  he  crossed 
the  road,  climbed  the  fence,  and  glided  across  the  fields. 

He  had  come  in  sight  of  the  Lombardy  poplars,  and  was 
going  round  by  the  orchard,  eagerly  looking  and  listening, 
thankful  that  the  dogs  had  been  sold,  —  thinking  all  the  time 
of  the  danger  to  his  neck  should  the  gold  be  found  in  his 
possession,  or  of  the  danger  to  Lucy  should  he  be  put  into 
jail  and  her  secret  wrung  from  him,  —  when  he  discovered, 
just  a  few  yards  off,  another  figure  like  his  own  skulking 
along  the  ground. 

Or  was  it  only  a  shape  of  the  imagination,  which  often 
played  him  such  tricks,  especially  in  lonesome  places  at  night  ? 
For  after  experiencing  a  terrible  fright,  and  squatting  on  the 
ground  for  at  least  ten  minutes,  he  could  see  nothing  but  the 
outlines  and  dim  objects  of  the  earth,  and  hear  nothing  but 
his  own  heart  thump ;  and,  when  he  ventured  to  get  upon  his 
feet  again,  the  thing  had  vanished,  and  he  was  alone. 

He  timidly  advanced.  .The  orchard  was  near :  he  came  up 
to  it ;  and,  having  looked  all  up  and  down  among  the  silent 
trees,  he  softly  laid  a  leg  over  the  wall.  He  was  preparing 
to  put  the  other  over,  lifting  his  basket  carefully,  and  moving 
in  constant  fear  of  making  the  stones  tumble,  when  up 
jumped  a  man  before  him,  upon  whose  back  he  hatl  almost 
set  his  foot. 

"  O  Lord !  "  gasped  Archy ;  and  the  way  the  stones  rolled 
and  rattled  beneath  him  was  astonishing. 


THE    GOLD.  463 

"Hello!"  said  the  man;  and  a  hand  caught  him  by 
the  leg  as  he  struggled  to  escape. 

"What  you  want  of  me?"  cried  the  genius,  holding  the 
basket  with  its  dreadful  contents  as  far  off  as  he  could. 
"  Le'  me  go  !  " 

"  Be  still,  or  I'll  choke  ye  !  "  muttered  the  man.  "  Do 
ye  know  where  Guy  is?  " 

"  Yes :  he's  gone  to  jail,"  said  Archy's  trembling  voice. 

"The  deuse  he  has!  And  old  Aaron  —  whereabouts 
Is  he?" 

"He's  after  you:  I  thought  he  was.  Come,  le'  me  go, 
Mad  Biddikin !  " 

"  Look  here,  Archy.     What  ye  got  in  the  basket?  " 

"  I've  got  some  pie-plants,  — nothing  for  you." 

"  I  wish  they  was  cooked  !  "  said  Mad.  "  Hain't  ye  got 
any  thing  good  to  eat?  Le'  me  see." 

"  Le'  go  o'  me!  I'll  screech!"  For  Archy,  though 
terrified,  remembering  that  one  murder  had  been  done  for  the 
sake  of  that  same  gold,  was  determined  to  be  faithful  to  his 
trust,  even  if  he  had  to  fight. 

"Wai,  you  needn't  be  so  skittish!"  said  Mad.  "See 
here :  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  village,  and  buy  me  some 
things;  will  ye?" 

"  Give  me  some  money,  then." 

"I'm-  dead-broke.  That's  what  I  want  to  see  Guy 
for.  Archy,"  Mad  whispered,  "I  know  who  has  got  that 
gold!" 


464  THE    GOLD. 

"  I  should  think  you  ought  to  know ! "  stammered 
Archy. 

"  Guy  left  it  with  Lucy,  I'll  bet  a  thousand  dollars.  She's 
got  it  now." 

"I  don't  believe  it!  She  hain't  got  it  any  more'n  I 
have  !  " 

"  That's  all  you  know  about  it.  I'll  tell  ye :  get  your 
mother  to  go  over  there  to-morrow,  and  coax  it  out  of  her,  or 
manage  to  steal  it;  and  I'll  give  you  fifty  dollars,  — yes,  a 
hundred,  —  as  much  as  you  want !  " 

"I  know  Lucy  hain't  got  it,"  replied  Archy;  "for  the 
sheriff  was  there  to-day,  and  had  a  sarch." 

"And  couldn't  find  it?"  said  Mad,  surprised.  "And 
Guy's  gone  to  jail !  —  'St !  there's  a  buggy  !  I'm  going  to 
see  if  it  stops  to  the  colonel's  :  it  may  be  Aaron.  Wait  till 
I  come  back." 

Mad  darted  along  by  the  wall  towards  the  road,  wonderfully 
to  the  relief  of  Archy,  who  did  not  wait  till  he  came  back, 
but  ran  off  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  hid  in  some  sumacs. 
There  he  lay  panting,  when  Mad  returned,  and  softly  called 
his  name,  and  walked  by  within  a  rod  of  him,  and  disappeared 
in  the  darkness.  That  was  the  last  he  saw  of  him ;  and  ven 
turing  at  length  out  of  his  retreat,  thanking  his  stars  that  he 
had  kept  safe  the  contents  of  his  basket,  —  the  idea  never 
once  occurring  to  him  that  all  that  gold  might  now  be  his, 
if  he  did  but  choose,  —  honest,  single-hearted,  cautious,  —  he 
groped  through  the  obscure  orchard  on  his  way. 


THE    GOLD.  465 

The  colonel  is  alone  in  his  library.  A  shaded  lamp  burns 
dimly.  Dimly  from  the  wall  look  down  the  portraits  of  the 
young  mother  and  the  fair-haired  boy  upon  her  knee ;  and 
his  thoughts  are  of  them,  —  there  in  the  silence,  with  his  heacl 
sunk  upon  his  breast. 

The  window  is  open ;  and  within  the  window  the  cactus 
hangs,  —  monstrous  crawling  creature,  with  its  long  feelers 
hanging  like  a  fringe  of  snakes  all  round  the  suspended  vase. 
It  is  going  to  blossom  soon.  And  the  colonel  remembers 
again  the  old  witch- woman  and  her  prediction,  already  twice 
fulfilled,  —  that  the  flowering  of  this  cactus  will  always  mark 
some  great  change  in  the  Bannington  Family. 

He  looks  up  at  the  portraits,  and,  with  feelings  that  carry 
him  back  twenty  years,  regards  the  noble  and  sweet  face  of 
the  mother,  and  the  bright,  brave  face  of  the  boy,  —  the  boy 
they  so  idolized  then ;  who  was  their  pride  afterwards  in  his 
promising  youth;  the  son  whom  she  died  blessing,  committing 
him  to  his  paternal  care ;  the  son  from  whom  he  has  been  for 
near  a  twelvemonth  unnaturally  estranged ;  over  whose  neck 
he  now  sees  the  noose  of  the  gallows  dangle,  —  and  the  cactus 
about  to  bloom ! 

Again  his  head  sinks  upon  his  chest  in  mute  agony ;  for 
how  had  he  fulfilled  that  mother's  charge !  The  stillness 
within  the  room,  and  the  stillness  without  in  the  dark  night, 
is  utter  and  ominous ;  when  suddenly  the  cactus  shakes  its 
snaky  fringes,  and  something  falls  with  a  dull  clash. 

The  colonel  starts  as  if  a  bomb-shell  had  burst.     He  looks 


466  THE    GOLD. 

round,  but  cjin  see  nothing  unusual ;  and  all  is  still  again. 
A  superstitious  fear  seizes  him ;  for,  truth  to  tell,  all  his  pro 
fessed  scepticism  and  hatred  of  the  supernatural  arise  from  a 
secret  belief  and  terror.  He  looks,  and  sees  the  cactus  fringes 
stirring  still,  —  horribly  stirring,  like  live  snakes.  He  gets 
hold  of  his  bell,  and  jingles  it  violently.  Rhoda  comes 
running. 

Had  she  heard  any  thing  ?  No,  she  avers,  and  wonders ; 
and  he  sets  her  to  searching  the  room. 

"My  goodness  sakes!  what's  this?"  And  she  fishes  a 
heavy-freighted  little  bundle  from  under  his  chair. 

He  seizes  it  with  shaking  hands.  Some  missile,  doubtless, 
directed  against  his  life.  "  There'll  be  a  mania  for  murdering 
folks  now  !  Shut  the  window,  —  the  blinds !  and  run  out 
and  see  who  fired  it !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  !  "  said  honest-spoken  Rhoda.  "  I'm  dread 
fully  scaret  I  What  is  it?" 

A  most  extraordinary  engine  of  mischief,  tied  up  in  a 
bag ;  and  the  colonel  is  a  little  shy  of  loosening  the  strings. 
But,  concluding  that  it  is  entirely  the  work  of  human  hands, 
—  no  spirit  hocus-pocus  about  it,  as  he  remarks  to  Rhoda,  — 
he  summons  pluck,  cuts  the  knots,  and  spills  out  an  aston 
ishing  stream  of  gold. 

Archy  had  done  his  errand ;  and  now,  fearful  of  pursuers, 
he  scoots  away,  shadowy  and  swift,  back  through  the  orchard, 
and  into  the  open  field,  where  he  pauses  to  listen  and  take 
breath,  in  the  midst  of  a  profound  night-silence  and  dimly 


THE    GOLD.  467 

visible  shapes,  —  alone,  beneath  the  glittering  constella 
tions. 

Soon  Lucy,  after  long  anxiously  waiting,  hears  the  precon 
certed  whistle  under  her  window,  and  thanks  God,  kneeling 
beside  her  bed. 

Then  Archy  hurries  home  to  his  mother.  And  so  the  day 
ends,  and  sleep  comes  to  whom  it  will.  Blessed  sleep  !  that 
visits  even  Lucy  this  night ;  even  Guy,  in  his  new,  strange 
lodgings ;  and  old  Ben  Arlyn,  after  tossing  all  day  with  fever 
in  Mrs.  Pinworth's  house.  Blessed,  blessed  sleep ! 


468  JACK    THE    CROW. 


XLIII. 

JACK  THE   CROW. 

HE  first  splendors  of  the  east  were  kindling  over 
the  mountain  when  Aaron  Burble  went  up  in 
the  dewy  shadow,  with  two  fugitives  and  the  day 
before  him. 

It  was  deemed  of  the  highest  importance  that  Mr.  Murk 
and  Mad  should  be  produced  at  the  inquest ;  and  the  con 
stable,  who  had  observed  their  movements  on  the  crag  the 
previous  afternoon,  and  shrewdly  guessed  their  purpose,  had 
formed  a  plan  for  their  capture.  Accordingly,  while  two 
deputies  were  sent  to  lie  in  ambush  at  the  ice-bed,  and  watch 
the  rocks,  he  proceeded  alone  to  the  summit. 

Steaming  and  blowing  up  the  long,  steep  path  from  Biddi- 
kin's  house,  in  the  fresh  morning  prime,  went  the  burly  con 
stable,  regardless  of  the  glory  flushing  the  tree-tops  above 
him,  of  the  lisping  rills  drizzling  in  gleam  and  shade  down  the 
glistening  rock-sides,  of  the  delicate  mosses  and  tender  young 
leaves  of  the  saplings ;  breathing  the  gracious  mountain  air  in 
a  most  ox-like,  unpoetical  fashion ;  intent,  flesh  and  spirit,  on 


JACK    THE    CROW.  469 

his  errand  of  force.  For  Aaron  was  a  type  of  those  worthy, 
solid  men,  who,  if  they  receive  any  unconscious  influx  of 
beauty  and  divine  life  from  God's  overflowing  urn,  straight 
way  convert  it  into  muscle  and  fat,  and  go  contentedly 
grunting. 

He  reached  the  summit,  and  stood  upon  the  rocks,  the  bald 
and  wrinkled  rocks,  upturned  to  heaven  like  the  brows  of  sad 
old  Saturn  scowling  at  lost  Olympus. 

"  The  idea  of  spending  a  man's  life  digging  for  treasure  in 
such  a  place  as  this !  "  he  said,  wiping  his  sweaty  face,  with 
a  satirical  chuckle,  as  he  peeped  down  into  the  dismal  empty 
shaft.  "  Lord,  what  fools  some  folks  be  !  " 

And  how  wise,  0  Aaron  !  are  some  of  the  rest  of  us,  in 
our  own  conceit !  As  if,  justly  considered,  you,  now,  were 
spending  your  days  any  more  profitably  than  the  fanatics  you 
jeer  at.  Is  enthusiasm  so  much  more  despicable  than  dull 
animality?  Are  you,  solid,  worthy  man,  boring  no  useless 
holes  in  the  stony  crust  of  worldliness,  which  contains  all  the 
treasure  you  have  any  conception  of?  and  may  not  you,  also, 
awake  some  judgment-day  morning  to  find  that  your  persist 
ent  and  toilsome  digging  has  been  all  illusion?  Come,  let 
us  stop  laughing  at  fools  till  we  have  got  over  our  folly. 

The  rope  is  wound  upon  the  windlass,  the  tub  lies  upset 
on  the  stones ;  and  Aaron  concludes  that  the  fugitives  can 
not  be  in  the  shaft,  which  one  can  neither  get  into  nor  out  of, 
as  it  looks,  without  a  helping  hand  at  the  spokes.  So  he  turns 
his  back  upon  the  summit,  and  advances  towards  the  cliff, — to 


470  JACK    THE    CROW. 

the  spot  where  he  yesterday  saw  Mad  make  a  motion  to  de 
scend.  On  that  brink  he  rests.  Nothing  is  visible  below 
but  the  still,  shadowy  precipice,  the  dizzy  slant  of  mountain 
wall,  the  bushy  thickets,  the  cataracts  of  stones,  untouched 
by  the  morning  sun ;  the  terrible  desolation  unrelieved  by  the 
presence  of  any  living  thing. 

Aaron  shrugs  his  thick  shoulders  at  the  view.  Suppose 
the  fugitives  to  be  anywhere  in  that  rocky  wilderness  which 
his  eye  can  sweep,  how  are  they  ever  to  be  detected  ?  He 
remembers  Mad's  brag  at  the  bear-hunt,  —  how  he  could  hide 
among  those  rocks  where  no  officer  could  find  him  out,  —  and 
concludes  that  the  rascal  was  not  far  wrong.  However,  an 
effort  must  be  made ;  and  after  waiting  half  an  hour  to  see 
if  any  game  will  stir,  and  perceiving  only  a  single  crow  cawing 
far  down  under  the  crags,  he  resolves  to  beat  the  bushes 
towards  his  ambushed  men. 

There  was  an  angle  of  the  cliff,  which,  like  a  stupendous 
jagged  nose,  bent  down  into  a  dense  hemlock  tangle  that 
grew  as  a  whisker  on  the  face  of  the  precipice.  This  was  the 
spot  where  the  philanthropist  concluded  not  to  risk  his  valuable 
limbs  :  but  this  way  Aaron  will  descend,  in  the  hope  of  start 
ing  his  game ;  and  he  climbs  over  the  cliff. 

In  the  hush  and  refulgence  of  the  early  day,  behold  a  fly 
on  the  mountain's  nose  !  They  in  the  village  may,  with  un 
assisted  vision,  discern  it  crawling  slowly ;  and  from  valley 
and  from  peak,  within  a  compass  of  a  dozen  miles,  any  hunter 
with  his  glass  may  examine  the  curious  creature.  A  speck, 
a  man ! 


JACK    THE    CROW.  471 

Viewed  from  far,  it  is  astonishing ;  but  to  us,  bringing  the 
object  near  as  we  please  with  the  telescope  of  the  imagination, 
it  is  also  a  little  ludicrous.  Broad  stern  foremost,  a  spectacle 
to  the  blue  universe ;  the  legs  blindly  feeling  their  way  down 
the  crag,  making  short  steps  between  the  sublime  and  the 
ridiculous ;  the  hands  grasping  at  any  crevice  or  shrub ;  the 
abdominal  buttons  scratching  the  rocks ;  stopping  to  sneeze, 
at  that  appalling  altitude,  —  thus  gropes  the  burly  constable. 

He  dips  into  shadow,  and  at  length  drops  into  the  thickets. 
There  his  corpulence  has  to  be  squeezed  through  excruciating 
ly  tight  places,  under  and  between  the  spiked  hemlocks.  He 
scratches  himself;  he  prepares  the  way  for  one  or  several  of 
Khoda's  excellent  patches  on  his  nether  garments ;  he  loses 
his  hat,  and  gets  caught  a  I  'Absalom  ;  till  at  last,  hot  and 
blown,  he  reaches  a  cataract  of  stones,  which  spreads  down 
ward  to  larger  rocks  below. 

All  this  time  he  has  proceeded  with  the  eye  of  vigilance. 
And  he  now  carefully  observes  the  conduct  of  that  only  living 
thing  besides  himself  discernible  under  the  cliff;  to  wit,  the 
crow.  It  comes  flapping  down  close  to  his  head,  as  crows 
are  not  wont  to  do ;  cawing  carnivorously,  as  if  with  a  view 
to  the  many  merry  breakfasts  he  might  enjoy  if  fat  Aaron 
would  but  have  the  kindness  to  get  a  tumble,  and  remain 
sticking  there  on  the  crag,  in  some  spot  convenient  for  pick 
ing  stray  bones. 

There  is  a  chance  of  the  bird's  reasonable  desire  being 
gratified ;  for  Aaron  has  hardly  set  his  foot  on  the  stones, 


472  JACK    THE    CROW. 

treading  along  the  stationary  stream,  when  it  begins  to  move, 
to  slide,  to  crush,  to  grind,  to  pour  and  rattle  down,  sweeping 
him  swiftly  towards  shipwreck.  He  manages,  however,  to 
anchor  himself  by  a  sapling,  and  get  out  of  the  thundering 
current,  with  only  a  few  bruises  on  his  beam-ends. 

If  Mad  had  been  anywhere  couched  among  the  rocks  be 
low  on  which  the  stony  torrent  broke,  he  must  have  thought 
the  everlasting  smash  was  come.  Over  those  rocks  Aaron 
was  soon  clambering.  Steep  the  pile,  and  dangerous.  Now 
and  then  a  heavy  fragment  became  loosened,  and  went  bound 
ing  down,  crashing  and  splitting,  and  raising  a  smoke  and 
smell  disagreeably  suggestive  of  pulverization,  —  a  smoke  and 
smell  as  of  Tartarus  itself,  into  which  Aaron  at  times  seemed 
about  to  be  precipitated  headlong.  DIFFICILIS  descensus 
Averni. 

Often  finding  himself  unexpectedly  in  a  sitting  posture,  he 
took  occasion  to  gather  breath,  wipe  away  sweat,  and  reflect 
upon  the  wonders  of  geology.  Also  to  watch  the  move 
ments  of  the  crow ;  for  Aaron  had  taken  it  into  his  head 
that  the  bird's  extraordinary  conduct  had  a  meaning,  and  that, 
well  considered,  something  interesting  might  come  of  it. 
Usually,  after  flapping  and  cawing  around  him  saucily  for  a 
minute  or  two,  it  flew  away  and  disappeared,  and  always  in  one 
direction.  That  way  Aaron  was  now  following,  as  fast  and 
as  straight  as  the  difficulties  of  the  place  would  permit.  At 
last,  only  a  screen  of  blueberry-bushes  separated  him  from  the 
field  of  enormous  brown  blocks  piled  about  the  ice-bed.  The 
bushes  he  passed,  and  sat  down  in  the  edge  of  them. 


JACK    THE    CROW.  473 

"  So  far,  so  good,  Master  Jack,"  quoth  the  constable. 

"  Blast  your  eyes !  "  quoth  Jack,  perching  on  a  point  of 
rock. 

Then  all  was  still :  only  a  pewee  piped  its  long-drawn, 
plaintive  notes  among  the  poplars  below,  —  a  sound  singularly 
sweet  and  solitary  in  that  desolate  spot.  Even  Aaron  could 
not  be  insensible  to  it.  But  seated  there  among  the  moun 
tainous  ruins,  with  the  dizzy  crags  soaring  above  him,  and  the 
morning  wasting  its  glory  on  the  awful  wilderness  around,  that 
one  bird's  slender  plaint  gave  him  a  sting  of  pensive  loneliness 
which  his  bosom  never  forgot ;  so  that,  years  afterwards,  he 
could  never  hear  a  pewee  in  the  woods  but  his  soul  was  car 
ried  back  to  that  morning  and  that  place,  to  a  vision  of  rocks, 
and  a  sentiment  of  desolation.  For  in  rudest  breasts  there  is 
a  secret  sense  of  poetry  and  feeling ;  and  not  seldom,  when 
the  grand  and  salient  points  of  nature  and  life  have  failed  to 
penetrate  it,  some  little  stream  of  tenderness  will  steal  in 
from  a  flower's  tint,  a  woman's  heart,  or  the  smile  and  voice 
of  a  child. 

It  is  questionable  if  Jack,  too,  did  not  feel  the  influence  of 
that  song,  far  more  solitary  than  his  own  wild  cawing  among 
the  crags.  For  some  minutes  he  stood  quite  still,  his  glossy 
feathers  presenting  a  fine  contrast  to  the  brown  lichens  that 
incrusted  the  rocks ;  then  he  flapped  his  wings,  and,  circling 
in  the  air  about  Aaron's  head,  settled  again  upon  a  rock  far 
ther  off. 

"  Laugh,  Jack  !    Ha,  ha  !    Mad's  come  home  !  "     And  he 


474 


JACK    THE    CROW. 


fluttered,  balancing  himself,  and  bobbing  his  head  in  a  very 
knowing  manner. 

Again  and  again  he  repeated  this  manoeuvre ;  circling  each 
time,  Aaron  noticed,  around  a  certain  massive  block,  easily 
identified,  if  not  by  its  peculiar  shape,  then  by  the  initials  and 
date  carved  upon  it  by  some  tourist  years  ago  :  — 


s.  R  H. 

1840. 


Characters  scraggy  and  huge,  legible  afar  off. 

Aaron  made  a  signal ;  and  presently  might  have  been  seen 
two  men  issuing  from  the  ambush  below.  They  scrambled 
up  over  the  rocks  to  his  side. 

"  Any  discoveries?  "  he  whispered. 

They  had  made  none  :  had  he  ?  Aaron  laughed,  and  point 
ed  at  the  rock,  —  "  S.  K.  H." 

' '  That  means,  Somewhere  Round  Here.  Look  at  that, 
now ! " 

Just  then,  Jack  dropped  down  beside  the  rock,  and  suspend 
ed  himself  on  hovering  wings,  vivaciously  chattering. 

"  Somebody  there,"  said  Aaron.  "  That's  Biddikin's  tame 
crow."  And,  as  he  spoke,  a  movement  of  the  bird,  darting 
back  with  a  scream  as  if  struck  at  from  below,  appeared  to 
confirm  the  conjecture.  "  We'll  see  what  he  has  got  there, 
anyhow." 


JACK    THE    CROW.  475 

To  cut  off  the  fugitives,  in  case  they  should  be  there  and 
attempt  to  escape,  the  constable  sent  his  men  round  beyond 
the  rock,  one  on  each  side,  while  he  carefully  advanced  in 
front.  Arrived  near  enough  to  command  a  view  of  the  spot 
over  which  Jack  had  hovered,  he  sat  down  again,  and  waited. 
This  seemed  to  excite  Jack,  who  came  once  more,  and  cawed 
and  flapped,  until  out  from  among  the  rocks  glided  a  thing 
like  a  stick  or  a  snake's  head,  threatening  him;  when  he 
flew  away  a  short  distance  and  alighted,  shaking  out  his  feath 
ers,  rubbing  his  beak,  and  sullenly  croaking.  Aaron  saw  the 
stick,  and  signalized  his  companions  confidently. 

There  was  an  angular  passage  down  between  the  loosely 
tumbled  masses,  large  enough  to  admit  the  body  of  a  man ; 
but,  when  the  officers  arrived,  there  was  nothing  to  indicate 
that  any  one  had  ever  entered  it.  To  what  cavernous  recesses 
it  led  could  not  be  known.  The  deputies  did  not  believe  that 
the  fugitives  could  be  there ;  and  when  Aaron,  getting  down 
on  his  face,  looked  in,  and  saw  only  a  narrow,  dismal  cavity, 
he  began  to  fear,  that,  after  all,  he  was  mistaken.  The  stick 
might  have  been  a  snake. 

"  Mad,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  we  want  you.     Come  out !  " 

The  hollow  ring  of  the  rocks,  the  silence  that  followed,  and 
the  darkness  of  the  den,  were  discouraging.  Aaron  got  up, 
and  one  of  the  others,  a  more  slender  man,  put  his  head  into 
the  passage.  Suddenly  he  drew  back,  put  up  his  hand,  and 
whispered  excitedly  under  his  tumbled  hair,  — 

" I  see  a  leg!" 


476  JACK    THE    CROW. 

"  'Sh !  "  said  Aaron,  silencing  him.  Then  putting  his 
face  once  more  at  the  opening,  and  speaking  to  be  heard 
within,  —  "I  tell  you,  boys,  we  can  fire  into  the  hole ;  and, 
if  there's  anybody  there,  we  shall  know  it." 

The  click  of  a  pistol-lock  followed ;  and  Burble  was  ready 
to  fire,  when  a  loud  roaring  in  the  den  prevented  him. 

1  'Who's  there?"  he  asked. 

"It's  me;  and  don't  you  shoot!"  cried  Mad  from  the 
depths  of  the  den. 

''Come  out,  then!" 

"Never,  alive!" 

"  Then  you'll  come  out  dead,  and  mighty  quick;  for  I've 
orders  to  take  you,  dead  or  alive  !  " 

At  that  the  pluck  of  Madison  altogether  failed  him ;  and 
he  crept  out,  trembling  and  white,  under  the  muzzle  of  Aaron's 
pistol. 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  Mad;  and  it  seems  almost  too  bad, 
don't  it  ?  I  never  could  have  found  you,  I  confess.  Jack's 
the  best  constable  of  the  lot !  " 

"Jack,"  said  Mad,  pallid  with  fear  and  rage,  "come 
here!" 

"Laugh,  Jack!"  said  the  crow,  perching  on  his  arm. 
"Ha,  ha!" 

Then  Mad  took  him,  and  cursed  him,  giving  his  neck  a 
sudden  wrench,  and  dashed  him  upon  the  rock.  Jack  kicked 
a  little,  and  was  dead. 


LITTLE    AGNES.  477 


XLIV. 

LITTLE  AGNES. 

HAT  night  the  coroner's  jury  found  their  verdict, 
helped  thereto  chiefly  by  the  testimony  of  Abner 
and  Job. 

Mad,  being  put  under  oath,  contradicted  himself  so  con 
fusedly,  that  he  had  been  unceremoniously  set  aside,  and  com 
mitted  to  jail.  Mr.  Murk  had  not  yet  been  arrested,  though 
the  officers  were  still  out  for  him.  Guy  —  we  know  where 
he  was  already.  These  three  were  charged,  in  the  verdict, 
with  the  murder. 

Doctor  Biddikin  was  kept  in  custody  for  a  day  or  two ;  but 
his  wits  seemed  to  have  deserted  him.  Since  he  was  carried 
out  of  the  court,  he  had  not  spoken  a  word ;  and  he  was 
finally  discharged. 

And  Pelt  was  put  under  the  daisies;  and  Guy,  not  so 
happy,  lay  in  prison.  A  murderer  ?  Spirit  communion,  love 
of  humanity,  world's  reform,  —  and  was  this  the  fruit? 

So  said  the  ministers  who  preached  about  it ;  so  said  the 
editors  who  wrote  about  it.  And  it  was  curious  now  to  note 


478  LITTLE    AGNES. 

how  many  oracular  old  smokers  and  sagacious  grandmothers 
had,  from  the  first,  foreseen  how  it  would  be. 

But  there  was  one  who  had  foreseen  much,  and  who  uttered 
now  no  vain  "  I  told  you  so  !  "  — who  accused  no  one,  and 
complained  not,  though  the  cup  of  bitterness  was  at  her 
lips. 

Only  once,  when  she  had  been  watching  long,  thinking  of 
her  dying  babe,  of  its  father  in  jail,  and  of  the  still  more  cruel 
bars  of  error  and  wrong  that  kept  him  from  her,  she  cried  out 
with  irrepressible  anguish,  — 

"You,  Mrs.  Brandle,  believe  in  God;  you  believe  in  min 
istering  angels :  but  are  there  not  wicked  spirits  that  come  to 
destroy?" 

"No  doubt,"  said  the  widow,  "there's  some  such.  It's 
with  sperits,  I  s'pose,  as  'tis  with  men  and  women :  there's 
all  sorts.  But  though  there  may  be  some  that's  bad,  there's 
others  more  bright  and  glorious  than  we  can  consave  of  or 
imagine.  It  depends  on  ourselves  which  shall  come  to  us. 
When  they  make  us  happier  and  better,  we  may  be  sure  they 
are  good  sperits."  And  the  widow's  face  shone  like  a  sign 
of  the  heavenly  influences. 

But  Guy  was  not  a  bad  man  :  why  had  he  been  so  misled  ? 
Lucy  implored  to  know. 

"  We  can't  expect  always  to  see  into  the  ways  of  Provi 
dence,"  the  widow  continued.  "  And  it  don't  do  to  have 
too  narrer  idees  on  any  subject.  It's  with  idees  as  'tis  with 
cloth  :  wide  will  wear,  but  narrer  will  tear.  And  one  thing, 


LITTLE    AGNES.  479 

my  child,  is  sartin  :  God  is  over  all.  He  permits  what  seems 
to  us  evil,  for  the  final  good  that's  to  come  on't." 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  believe  that  as  I  used  to  think  I  be 
lieved  it !  "  said  Lucy. 

"  I  know,"  —  the  widow's  voice  quivered, —  "  it's  a  great 
deal  easier  to  talk  than  'tis  to  live  up  to  our  faith  when  the 
time  o'  trial  comes.  But  I've  had  afflictions  myself;  and  I 
speak  what  I've  larnt.  If  we  are  prayerful  and  true,  no 
suffering  can  happen  to  us  that  ain't  for  our  good.  My  dear 
child,"  she  added,  her  eyes  glimmering  with  tears,  "I  want 
you  to  realize  this,  and  bear  it  in  mind ;  for  you'll  need  it  to 
support  ye  in  what  you've  got  to  go  through.  And,  in  the 
midst  of  all,  I  want  you  to  remember  you've  got  at  least  one 
airthly  friend  that  never'll  desart  ye  !  "  She  wiped  her  eyes. 
"  There  now,  dear,  let  me  take  her ;  and  you  lie  down,  and 
see  if  you  can't  ketch  a  little  nap." 

Under  the  widow's  soothing  influence,  and  with  Mrs. 
Hedge's  presence  and  sympathy,  Lucy  found  strength  to  pass 
through  the  days  when  Guy  was  in  prison,  and  her  father 
was  wasting  with  fever  and  evil  counsel  in  her  aunt's  house, 
and  little  Agnes  was  fading  away.  Worn  out  with  grief  and 
watching,  she  would  sleep,  or  seem  to  sleep ;  for  often  she 
would  lie  awake  for  hours  with  closed  eyes,  never  stirring, 
scarcely  breathing  even,  except  that,  at  long  intervals,  a  deep 
sigh  would  heave. 

What  were  her  thoughts  at  such  times  ?  Over  what  end 
less  gloomy  flood  hovered  the  tempest-driven  dove  of  her 


480  LITTLE    AGNES. 

soul,    finding   no  rest  for  its  weary  wings,  no   branch   of 
hope? 

One  day,  when  she  lay  thus,  Mrs.  Brandle  uttered  a  stifled 
cry.  She  had  been  holding  the  living  babe  upon  her  lap, 
when  suddenly  she  discovered  that  no  living  babe  was  there. 
One  of  Grod's  glorious  miracles  had  been  wrought  in  mystery 
and  silence.  There  lay  the  exquisite  mould  of  clay ;  but 
the  spirit  that  had  given  it  form  and  being  was  gone.  Agnes 
was  among  the  angels. 

"  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord !  "  murmured  the 
widow. 

Lucy  rose,  and  knelt  down  by  the  pale  corpse.  She  ut 
tered  first  one  piercing  wail,  wringing  her  hands.  Then  she 
calmed  herself,  gazed  at  it  in  silence  with  unutterable  woe 
and  anguish,  kissed  it  many  times  passionately,  and  said,  — 

"  It  is  better  so  !  —  better  so,  my  darling  !  God  grant  I 
may  follow  soon  !  " 

She  took  it  to  her  heart,  as  if  she  would  have  kept  it  ever 
warm  there ;  and  sat  with  it  long,  feeding  her  eyes  and  soul 
upon  it.  And  none  spoke  to  her. 

But  at  length  Mrs.  Brandle  came,  and,  gently  opening  her 
arms,  took  the  little  thing  away,  and  put  a  white  robe  upon 
it ;  and  Archy  brought  flowers  ;  and  it  was  laid  upon  a  pil 
low  by  the  window,  where  it  seemed  asleep  and  smiling. 
The  window  was  open,  and  the  birds  were  singing ;  for  the 
afternoon  was  pleasant. 

Then  Jehiel  came  in,  leading  little  Teddy.  Jehiel,  strong 
man  as  he  was,  stood  and  wept  like  a  child  at  the  sad 


LITTLE    AGNES.  481 

spectacle ;  but  Teddy,  though  he  had  shown  through  all 
the  baby's  sickness  a  strange  sympathy,  hushing  his  play  for 
its  sake,  watching  by  it  sorrowfully,  — Teddy  looked  up  with 
a  wise  spiritual  smile. 

''Little  baby  is  happy  now,  ain't  she?"  he  said  in  his 
simple  innocence. 

Archy  worked  all  night  making  a  coffin ;  and  the  next  day 
was  the  burial. 

No  bell  was  tolled ;  no  minister  was  present ;  no  throng 
of  mourners  came  to  weep  with  Lucy.  It  was  as  she  wished. 
The  world  kept  aloof,  —  the  respectable,  virtuous  world. 
Yet  Mrs.  Brandle  and  Archy  kept  not  aloof;  and  Hannah 
and  her  husband  led  the  wondering  little  Teddy  to  the  grave 
of  the  pretty  babe  he  loved,  and  could  not  be  reconciled  to 
have  put  away  in  the  dark  ground.  Besides  these,  and  the 
sexton  with  his  shovel  and  hoe,  there  was  none  to  keep  Lucy 
company ;  and,  oh,  to  think  Guy  was  not  there  !  and  that 
her  father  had  never  seen  her  babe,  and  could  never  see  it ! 

The  afternoon  was  beautiful :  it  was  early  June.  The 
grass  about  the  graves  was  sprinkled  thick  with  buttercups 
and  golden  dandelions,  with  sweet  shadows  here  and  there  of 
fringy  tamaracks  and  young  balsams.  The  sunshine  flashed 
bright  on  the  gray-lettered  headstones,  and  nestled  warm  in 
the  tender  leafage  of  the  larches  ;  and  the  finches  sang  deli- 
ciously.  And  Teddy,  after  reasoning  about  it,  looked  up 
with  a  gleam  of  hope  when  he  saw  the  faces  around  him  sor 
rowful,  and  said,  — 

31 


482  LITTLE    AGNES. 

"  But  the  angels  will  be  glad ;  won't  they,  mamma  ?  " 

At  that,  Arcby  was  taken,  carried  beyond  himself,  and 
made  to  utter  a  prayer  full  of  fervor  and  solemn  gladness ; 
inspired  —  so  it  seemed  —  by  an  angel  choir,  in  whose  arms 
the  spirit-babe  had  found  its  heavenly  rest.  Consoling  faith, 
could  Lucy  have  but  believed. 

Then  the  imperturbable  sexton  laid  off  his  coat  in  a  busi 
ness-like  way,  and  commenced  shovelling  smartly,  heedless  of 
the  sound  of  the  plunging  and  rattling  gravel,  falling  heav 
ily,  not  upon  the  little  coffin  only  and  the  dead  babe,  but 
also  upon  the  mother's  buried  heart. 

The  turf  had  been  opened  under  a  mountain-ash,  where 
there  was  but  one  other  grave. 

"  I  didn't  think,"  said  Lucy,  "  when  they  buried  my 
mother,  that  my  own  little  baby  would  be  brought  here 
next !  " 


THE    PRISON.  483 


XLV. 

THE  PRISON. 

FTER  the  funeral,  Hannah  went  to  carry  the 
news  of  the  event  to  Guy.      She  took  the  cars, 

and  was  soon  walking  up  the  broad  shady  street 
in  the  town  where  he  was.  Before  her,  half  hidden  by  great 
elms,  gleamed  a  marble-fronted  edifice,  the  finest  in  the 
county.  Beyond  this  rose  old  Mount  Solomon,  with  all  his 
shaggy  forests  and  emerald  peaks.  The  line  of  verdure, 
which  creeps  slowly  up  the  mountain-slopes  in  spring,  had 
reached  the  sunny  summit,  where  it  smiled.  Near  the  street 
the  river  glided ;  in  the  elms  the  hang-bird  swung  his  nest. 
A  lovely  region,  —  as  if  the  purpose  were  to  give  those,  who 
entered  that  fine  structure  to  sojourn  long,  a  last  look  of  the 
world  as  they  went  in,  and  glimpses  of  it  afterwards  over 
rear  walls,  which  should  lend  their  solitude  ingenious  stings. 
Sadly  Hannah  went  to  deliver  her  sad  message,  not  know 
ing  how  she  could  endure  to  see  Guy  in  a  felon's  cell,  and 
add  this  weight  to  his  trouble.  She  instinctively  delayed  her 
steps  under  the  swaying  and  pendent  boughs,  not  to  admire 


484  THE    PRISON. 

their  beauty  and  enjoy  the  shade,  but  thinking  of  life's 
changes, — how  she  was  once  an  outcast,  in  despair,  and  near 
to  death  ;  and  he  rescued  her,  and  gave  her  back  to  life  and 
happiness,  —  he  who  was  now  in  turn  an  outcast,  in  despair, 
and  near  to  death,  and  she  could  not  rescue  him  ! 

"Hannah  Hedge!  where  in  the  world  be  you  going?" 
And  Rhoda  Burble  came  trudging  fast  after  her,  bearing  a 
basket. 

Hannah  started  from  her  revery,  and  guessed  she  was 
going  to  the  same  place  Rhoda  was. 

"  I  want  to  know  if  you  be  !  —  to  see  him?  Wai,  he'll 
be  glad  to  see  any  of  his  friends,  I  should  think.  I  hain't 
forgot,  and  I'm  sure  you  hain't,  how  he  befriended  you 
once  :  though  I  don't  often  mention  the  time  when  he 
found  you  beat  out  by  the  road,  knee-deep  in  water,  and 
deeper  yet  in  trouble,  and  brought  you  home,  and  had  you 
took  care  of  till  your  baby  was  born ;  and  I  wouldn't  speak 
on't,  only  I  like  to  remember  his  kindness  to  others,  now 
everybody  is  turned  aginst  him!"  And  the  quick  tears 
rushed  into  Rhoda's  eyes. 

"  I  can't  believe  he  is  guilty  !  "  exclaimed  Hannah. 

"Believe?  —  I  know!"  replied  Rhoda.  "He  no  more 
had  a  hand  in  Pelt's  death  than  you  or  me  had.  You've  heard 
how  the  gold  was  flung  into  our  winder  after  he  was  in  jail ; 
and  how  could  that  be,  if  he  had  been  the  robber  ?  It's 
absurd  on  the  face  on't!"  she  answered  her  own  question 
triumphantly. 


THE   PRISON.  485 

"  How  does  he  bear  up  under  it  ?  " 

"Beautiful! — he  does,  re'lly !  Cheerful  as  ever,  and 
just  as  mild  as  a  lamb.  He  a  man  to  commit  murder  ! 
Between  you  and  me,  Hannah,  I  believe  'twas  them  Biddi- 
kins.  That  old  man  Biddikin  never'd  act  as  he  does  if  he 
wasn't  guilty.  He's  just  like  a  wild  man.  He  won't  speak 
to  anybody,  but  makes  the  strangest  motions,  and  runs  into 
the  woods  to  hide  when  he  sees  folks  coming.  It's  a  wonder 
to  me  they  don't  have  him  took  up  and  put  into  jail,  and  let 
my  poor  boy  out." 

"  How  does  the  colonel  feel  ?  " 

"  0  Lord  !  if  you  ever  see  a  man  in  the  depths  of  de 
spair  !  He  don't  say  much ;  but  I  know  he  feels  he's  to 
blame,  and  would  give  any  thing  to  git  Guy  clear.  He  has 
sent  to  have  him  have  the  best  lawyers,  and  every  thing  com 
fortable,  at  his  expense.  I've  got  some  clo'es  for  him  here, 
and  some  little  nick-nacks,  besides  some  posies  Ann  Mari' 
picked  to  send.  Do  you  know  them  folks,  Hannah  ?  "  For 
just  then  a  buggy  dashed  by ;  and  Hannah,  with  a  start, 
caught  Rhoda's  arm.  "  Sakes  alive  !  you  are  white  as  a 
sheet !  " 

"  I'm  a  little  faint,  that's  all !  "  gasped  Hannah. 

"  Then  don't  pull  your  veil  down  so  !  You  want  all  the 
air  you  can  git.  Here,  set  down  on  this  seat  a  minute  : 
you  look  like  death  ! "  And  getting  Hannah  upon  the 
bench,  and  setting  the  basket  beside  her,  Rhoda  began  to 
fan  her  briskly,  and  to  rub  her  trembling  hands. 


486  THE    PRISON. 

The  buggy  bore  two  persons,  —  a  man  and  a  woman. 
The  latter  alighted  at  the  side-door  of  the  marble-fronted 
building,  and  the  man  drove  back  alone  past  the  two  women 
under  the  trees. 

All  this  time,  in  a  room  in  that  stone  structure,  sits  one  we 
know,  writing.  It  is  a  narrow  apartment;  the  furniture 
scanty,  —  a  bed,  a  table,  and  two  chairs ;  the  walls  bleak, 
and  staring  with  whitewash ;  and  the  square  of  sunshine  that 
falls  on  the  bare  floor  is  crossed  by  the  shadows  of  iron  bars. 
For  the  building  is  the  court-house ;  and  this  is  in  the  indis 
pensable  rear-half  of  it,  —  the  county  jail. 

The  writer  is  disturbed  by  the  jingling  of  keys,  the  turn 
ing  of  locks,  and  a  face  at  the  grated  door  announcing, 
"A  lady  to  see  Mr.  Bannington,"  —  much  as  if  the  jail 
were  his  own  house,  and  the  sheriff's  son  his  valet. 

A  very  polite  youth  is  the  turnkey;  who,  at  a  motion 
from  Guy,  unlocks  the  door  with  alacrity,  and  ushers  in  the 
visitor. 

Slowly  she  advances,  muffled,  mysterious,  like  a  woman 
made  of  cloud.  An  ash-colored  veil  and  a  gray  gown  drape 
her  from  head  to  foot.  She  enters,  and  stands  silent  as  a 
ghost;  while  Guy,  rising,  regards  her  with  mild  astonish 
ment,  and  the  turnkey  closes  the  door  with  a  clank. 

Then,  when  they  two  were  alone,  she  bowed  her  head  low, 
and  knelt  at  his  feet,  lifting  her  hands  clasped  under  her  veil, 
weeping  audibly. 

"Christina!"  He  had  recognized  her.  He  stooped  to 
lift  her  up.  "My  sister!  what  does  this  mean?" 


THE    PRISON.  487 

"  Oh  !  "  she  sobbed,  "  to  think  that  I  have  done  it  all  !  — 
deceived,  deserted  you,  brought  you  here  !  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  so,"  he  answered,  putting  his  arm 
about  her  kindly,  and  placing  her  upon  a  chair.  "  No :  I 
have  never  blamed  you.  What  is  this  strange  dress?  " 

"  I  am  doing  bitter  penance,  Guy  Barmington  !  When  I 
heard  you  were  here,  nothing  would  appease  my  soul  but 
I  must  put  on  this  sackcloth,  and  with  ashes  on  my  head 
come  to  you,  humble  myself  again,  and  get  forgiven." 

"  Woman  ! "  said  Guy,  trembling  and  pale,  "  am  I  glad  or 
sorry  to  see  you  ?  I  cannot  tell :  I  almost  fear.  There  is 
something  I  fear  :  what  is  it  ?  " 

"What  is  it?"  she  repeated  in  a  voice  hollow  and  ap 
palled;  and,  sweeping  aside  her  veil,  she  showed  him  her 
face  harrowed  with  misery.  "Is  it  death?" 

"Death?"  He  smiled.  "  This  world  is  beautiful,  —  oh, 
I  know  it !  and  life  is  very  sweet,  for  all  the  tears.  But,  if 
my  time  is  come,  I  am  content." 

"  But  such  a  death  !  0  Guy  !  I  shall  not  be  content ! 
I  am  the  cause  !  " 

"  I  find  you  guilty  of  no  fault,  my  sister:  only  you  left 
with  me  a  hyena  you  did  not  sufficiently  tame." 

"Madison?  Oh,  I  felt  it!  I  did  wrong,  wrong!" 
exclaimed  Christina.  "Tell  me,  what  is  it  you  fear?" 

"  That  work  of  ours,  — that  divine  work,  as  we  believed, 
—  is  it  all  over  with  it  ?  "  he  said,  pitifully  smiling.  "  Was 
it  all  delusion  ?  " 


488  T1IE    PRISON. 

"  If  I  only  knew  !  —  if  I  could  only  tell  you  what  I  begin 
to  know  !  "  —  murmured  Christina. 

"  Have  I  been  altogether  a  fool?  "  he  continued.  "  Had 
I  not  some  reason  for  my  faith  ?  If  you  have  ever  deceived 
me,  deceive  me  not  now  !  Here  I  am,  in  the  toils  of  the 
law,  —  in  the  toils  of  my  own  soul's  perplexity  and  doubt ; 
and  as  God  lives,  Christina,  you  will  not  be  guiltless  if  you 
keep  back  from  me  one  word  of  the  truth." 

"  I  will  tell  you  all !  "  she  answered,  weeping  the  while  as 
she  looked  at  him.  "  I  have  not  meant  to  mislead." 

"  Did  not  heavenly  influences  descend  to  us  ?  " 

"  They  did  ;  they  surely  did  !  " 

"  I  was  obedient  to  them,  and  not  without  cause  !  "  And 
over  the  deep  concern  of  his  countenance  there  passed  a  holy 
glow.  "  Before  my  Maker  here,  I  can  bear  witness  that  I 
had  no  selfish  private  ends  in  view.  The  love  of  humanity 
was  with  me  no  idle  profession.  I  have  closely  questioned 
myself  here ;  and  this  is  no  time,  and  this  is  no  place,  for 
self-flattery.  To  serve  my  fellow-men  ;  to  be  in  my  poor 
way  a  savior  of  souls,  at  any  sacrifice  of  myself,  —  I  did 
pray  for  that,  my  sister  !  " 

"  Oh,  if  we  had  all  been  as  single-hearted  as  you  !  — if  / 
had  only  been  !  " 

"  You  ?  "  He  clasped  both  her  hands  in  his.  "To  you, 
Christina,  I  owe  my  life  !  —  not  the  life  of  this  body,  but  the 
life  of  my  soul.  You  are  more  than  a  sister  to  me  :  you  are 
my  spiritual  elder  sister.  You  first  awakened  in  me  that 


THE    PRISON.  489 

consciousness,  that  light  of  the  spirit,  which  I  can  never  lose 
again  ;  which  is  more  precious  to  me  than  any  thing  I  have 
lost  or  can  lose  ;  which  comforts  me  even  here." 

"  To  hear  you  speak  so  now,  it  is  too  much  !  "  she  ex 
claimed  betwixt  joy  and  anguish.  "I  thought  you  would 
upbraid  me,  rail  against  me,  and  against  everybody  and 
every  thing  that  you  could  charge  with  your  misfortunes  ;  for 
that's  the  way  the  world  does.  Hear  me  now,  and  judge. 
Those  influences  were  divine,  —  we  know  they  were  ;  for  did 
they  not  pour  a  divine  atmosphere  around  us  ?  And  were 
there  not  signs  and  wonders  to  compel  belief?  Yet,"  she 
added,  "we  have  seen  how  human  wishes  muddy  even  the 
springs  of  inspiration  !  " 

' '  I  know  it  is  so  with  many  mediums ;  but  not  with  you, 
Christina  !  " 

"  Guy  !  can  I  tell  you  ? — can  I  wound  you  ?  " 

"  Wound  me,  if  the  truth  can  wound.  Keep  nothing 
back." 

' '  I  have  been  weak,  like  the  rest.  The  magnetism  of 
Biddikin's  house  deceived  me  first :  it  had  been  for  years 
impregnated  with  the  very  life  of  his  mind,  which  was  all 
absorbed  in  that  wretched  phantom  of  a  treasure." 

Guy  regarded  her  steadily,  struck  pale  and  dumb ;  for, 
after  all  the  proofs  of  her  seership,  only  this  could  have  stag 
gered  his  faith,  —  the  confession  of  her  own  lips. 

*'  For  it  is  a  phantom,  Guy !  "With  all  that  was  good  and 
glorious,  there  were  false  and  fanatical  influences, — partly 


490  THE    PRISON. 

Biddikin's,  partly  Murk's.  If  I  had  been  pure  and  strong 
enough,  I  might  have  disentangled  them ;  but  I  was  selfish 
like  the  rest !  " 

"  You,  Christina  ?     What  had  you  to  gain  ?  " 

"Look  away!  —  do  not  see  my  shame  when  I  confess. 
I  was  ambitious.  I  craved  the  stimulus  of  excitement.  I 
loved  you  from  the  first,  and  I  readily  favored  that  which 
brought  me  in  contact  with  you." 

Guy  covered  his  face,  and  groaned  aloud. 

"  Believe  me,"  she  said,  "  I  did  not  know  it  was  so.  Not 
until  I  lost  you,  and  crucified  myself,  and  put  on  this  sack 
cloth,  was  the  truth  revealed  to  me.  I  believed,  as  so  many 
believe  of  themselves,  that  I  had  the  love  of  humanity  at 
heart :  that  snake  of  selfishness  that  hides  in  the  grass  of  our 
natures  —  he  is  so  subtle  !  " 

Guy  rose,  and  paced  the  room  with  extreme  agitation. 

' '  Have  I  been  ambitious  ?  Have  I  been  beguiled  by  the 
pride  of  leadership  ?  God  knows  !  "  He  sat  down  again, 
sighing  heavily.  "  Christina,  I  have  had  inward  whisper 
ings  of  all  you  have  said ;  and  I  refused  to  listen  to  them. 
I,  too,  have  been  guilty :  I  permitted  my  wishes,  my  logic, 
to  stifle  my  deeper  convictions.  I  have  taken  truth  at  second 
hand,  instead  of  drawing  from  the  depths  of  my  own  spirit. 
For  that  sin  I  am  here  !  " 

While  he  was  speaking,  the  turnkey  came  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Burble  and  another  woman  were  waiting  to  see  him. 

"  I  can't  see  them  just  now:  in  a  few  moments,  James. 
Rhoda  will  be  patient." 


THE    PRISON.  491 

He  had  still  so  many  things  to  say  to  Christina,  and  to 
hear  from  her  !  The  minutes  grew  to  twenty,  and  he  had 
quite  forgotten  his  other  visitors ;  when  again  the  keys  jingled, 
and  Rhoda's  face  and  basket  came  to  the  grate. 

"  I  knew  you  had  company ;  and  I've  been  here  'most  an 
hour,"  said  she,  "waiting.  But  I've  got  to  git  the  next 
train  home ;  and  I  shall  have  to  run  for  it  now." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Rhoda ;  but  you  see  how  it  is,"  said  Guy. 
"  Open  the  door,  James." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  whispered  the  housekeeper,  lugging  in  her 
basket,  "  ain't  that  the  wonderful  medium  !  I  wish  I  could 
git  a  communication  !  Ever  since  you've  been  here,  I  hain't 
dared  to  open  my  mouth  about  speritualism  :  every  thing  is 
laid  to  that.  Ann  Mari'  can't  set  now,  her  father's  so  set 
aginst  it ;  and  I'm  starving  to  death." 

"Who  came  with  you?"  said  Guy,  assisting  to  empty 
the  basket. 

"  Nobody  came  with  me,"  replied  Rhoda.  "  But  Hannah 
Hedge  came  in  the  same  train,  in  another  car ;  and  I  over 
took  her  in  the  street.  She  has  been  waiting  here,  all  this 
time  to  see  you.  She  wouldn't  come  in  without  she  could 
see  you  alone ;  and,  as  she  has  got  to  go  back  in  the  train 
with  me,  she  left  me  to  do  her  errant." 

"  From  Lucy  ?  "  asked  Guy  in  a  low  voice. 

"  The  baby  !  "  answered  Rhoda  softly  :  "  that  poor  little 
baby  !  "  —  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  —  "  was  buried  this 
afternoon !  " 


492  THE    PRISON. 

Guy  took  hold  of  the  iron-grated  door,  and  leaned  against 
it,  his  forehead  pressing  the  cold  bars.  His  little  neglected 
Agnes  gone,  and  he  could  never  see  her  again  in  this  world ! 
The  mother  childless,  and  he  not  there  to  comfort  her  !  The 
stroke  was  heavy.  For  a  minute  he  was  not  in  the  prison- 
cell  witfo  the  two  women,  —  they  had  vanished ;  and  he  was 
far  away  with  love  and  memory  and  remorse. 

He  was  aroused  by  the  polite  James,  who  said,  "  A  gen 
tleman  to  see  you,"  and,  throwing  open  the  door,  admitted  — 
the  Honorable  Cephas  Snow. 

Rhoda  retired  with  the  turnkey,  and  found  Hannah  in  the 
waiting-room. 

"What!  faint  again?  Dear  me !  don't  haul  your  veil 
down  so  in  this  close  room  !  It  don't  agree  with  you  to  go 
to  jail,  I  declare  !  Some  perty  respectable  folks  come  here, 
though,  as  you  see.  That  woman  is  the  famous  medium, 
Miss  Froze.  But  then  you  ain't  so  interested  in  speritualism 
as  I  be,  and  may  be  you  never  heard  of  her  or  of  that  gen 
tleman.  That's  the  famous  member  of  Congress,  Mr.  Snow. 
Why,  what  do  you  hurry  so  for?  We  shall  catch  the  train." 

"  Did  he  —  stop  with  Guy  ?  "  Hannah  breathlessly  asked. 

*'  Yes  :  why  ?  Did  you  ever  see  him?  "  said  Ilhoda,  per 
plexed  by  her  strange  conduct. 

"  He  came  into  the  room;  but  I  scarcely  looked  at  him. 
Come  !  or  we  shall  miss  the  cars  !  " 

Hannah  could  not  be  at  rest  till  they  were  seated  in  the 
train  and  on  their  way.  Then  she  lifted  her  veil,  leaned  her 


THE    PRISON.  493 

face  by  the  window,  and  sighed  with  relief;  though  she  was 
still  pale,  and  her  large  eyes  full  of  trouble. 

"  I  regret  exceedingly  to  find  you  in  this  difficulty,"  said 
the  Honorable  Cephas  with  a  patronizing  air.  "  I  trust  it  is 
nothing  serious." 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,"  said  Guy,  "it  is  altogether  seri 
ous.  This  is  not  a  world  of  trifles,  as  some  think."  And 
his  hand,  which  the  Congress-man  shook  so  affably,  returned 
no  cordiality  in  its  stern  grip. 

"  It  is  a  world  of  experience  and  of  mutual  benefits,"  re 
plied  the  bland  Cephas.  "  I  came  to  see  if  there  is  any  thing 
I  can  do  for  you." 

"I  thank  you:  there  maybe  much  you  can  do.  But 
let's  understand  each  other,  to  begin  with.  One  of  the  seri 
ous  things  in  the  world  is  the  word  of  man  to  man.  You 
have  deceived  me  once :  do  not  so  again.  Let  us  have  no 
more  merely  polite  smiles,  and  promises  made  to  be  broken." 

"  It  is  my  fortune,"  the  Congress-man  answered  mildly, 
"to  be  misunderstood."  A  flush  spread  even  to  the  edge 
of  his  fine  high  forehead,  then  left  it  marble- white ;  and  he 
smilingly  seated  himself  in  the  chair  Guy  placed  for  him. 
"  Suppose  that  I  foresaw  what  your  work  was  tending  to, 
was  I  not  right  in  withdrawing  from  it  my  support?  " 

"  The  officer  who  deserts  his  post  in  the  hour  of  danger, 
and  leaves  his  comrades  to  perish  without  giving  them  any 
warning,  is  called  by  hard  names.  Yet  you  would  justify 
him?  "  said  Guy.  "  But  I  don't  suppose  you  foresaw  any  such 


494  THE    PRISON. 

thing  as  you  pretend  ;  else,  when  I  called  on  you  to  fulfil 
your  engagements,  and  you  exercised  your  ingenuity  to  find 
excuses,  you  would  hardly  have  failed  to  give  the  true  reason, 
your  only  valid  excuse,  for  breaking  such  solemn  pledges." 

"  From  your  stand-point,  it  is  very  natural  that  you  should 
blame  me,"  said  the  conciliatory  Snow;  "and  I  must  en 
dure  it  patiently." 

"  But  for  you,  and  such  as  you,"  answered  Guy  with  iron 
sternness,  "  I  should  not  be  here.  Relying  on  your  prom 
ises,  I  assumed  responsibilities  which  placed  me  in  desperate 
circumstances  ;  when  you  betrayed  and  forsook  me.  Yet  I 
blame  no  one  but  myself.  I  only  say,  deceive  me  no  more. 
Perform  all  your  obligations,  Mr.  Snow,  —  to  friends  and 
enemies ;  to  your  parents,  if  they  still  live ;  and  to  your  chil 
dren,  if  you  have  any.  Then,  if  you  will  do  any  thing  for  me, 
I  will  ask  a  favor." 

Christina  looked  sharply  at  Cephas,  and  perhaps  knew  bet 
ter  than  Guy  what  brought  that  nervous  spasm  into  his  bland 
features.  It  was  gone  in  an  instant ;  and  he  warmly  begged 
to  know  what  he  could  do  for  the  prisoner. 

"  Those  poor  fellows  whom  we  employed,  and  whom  I 
would  have  coined  my  heart  to  pay  for  their  hard  labor," 
said  Guy,  —  "it  grieves  my  soul  to  think  of  them  !  If  I  get 
safely  out  of  this,  and  live,  I  shall  see  that  justice  is  done  to 
them.  But,  in  the  mean  time,  they  may  be  suffering  ;  and 
perhaps  the  thing  will  go  against  me ;  for  the  evidence  is 
strong.  So,  if  you  can  do  any  thing  for  them,  I  will  be  very 
glad." 


THE    PRISON.  495 

"I  will  see;  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  Cephas  readily  re 
plied.  "  But  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  how  I  am  engaged. 
I  have  discovered  what  you  have  all  been  looking  for,  but 
none  have  found,  — the  true  idea  of  a  social  re-organization. 
This  is  what  I  have  been  developing  into  a  system  whilst  you 
have  supposed  I  was  proving  false  to  my  trust.  You  will 
see,  when  I  unfold  it  to  you,  that  I  have  been  laboring  as 
faithfully  as  you,  and  perhaps  more  wisely,  for  the  sacred 
cause  of  humanity." 

Snow  was  himself  again  ;  and  the  smile  with  which  he  con 
cluded  was  finely  persuasive.  But  Christina  sighed  wearily, 
and  Guy  was  grim. 

"Talk  no  more  of  the  sacred  cause  of  humanity!  We 
have  begun  at  the  wrong  end  of  reform  :  now  let  us  take  hold 
of  the  right  end.  Let  us  commence  with  ourselves,  set  up 
Christ's  kingdom  in  our  own  hearts  and  lives,  and  receive  the 
peace  of  God  in  our  own  souls,  before  we  prate  any  more 
of  a  new  divine  order  of  things.  When  we  have  done  this, 
learned  self-government,  private  charity,  daily  sacred  duty, 
and  purity  of  life,  then,  if  you  live  and  I  live,  and  we  meet 
again,  and  you  have  any  large  humanitary  scheme  to  unfold, 
I  will  listen  to  you  gladly." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Snow,  —  white  Snow,  spotless  Snow. 
And,  persistently  affable,  he  once  more  offered  Guy  his  hand, 
and  received  a  stern,  not  cordial  grip.  "  I  trust  that  we  shall 
meet  again,  and  that  we  shall  understand  each  other  better. 
The  jailer  is  coming :  shall  we  go,  Christina?  " 


496  THE    PRISON. 

"  Cephas,"  said  she, -"haven't  you  one  deep,  true  word  to 
say  to  this  man  before  we  leave  him  ?  Then  go :  I  will 
come  in  a  minute."  She  seized  Guy's  hand,  and  bathed  it 
with  tears.  "  Good-by  !  Forgive  all !  Oh,  if  I  could  stay 
and  comfort  you,  and  share  your  fate  !  But  that  is  not  for 
me!" 

"No,  my  sister;  and  she  who  alone  has  that  right  will 
not  come.  I  do  not  complain ;  she  has  good  cause ;  and  " 
—  with  a  gush  of  grief  and  tenderness  —  "  she  needs  comfort 
now  more  than  I, —  my  poor  Lucy  !  " 

"  She  shall  come  to  you  !  "  exclaimed  Christina.  "  I  will 
show  you  that  I  am  not  all  selfish  and  bad.  If  I  have  done 
any  thing  to  separate  you,  it  shall  be  undone.  Heaven  help 
me!" 

So  they  parted ;  and  the  iron  door  closed  between  them. 


CHRISTINA   AND   CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS.     497 


XLVI. 

CHRISTINA  AND    CEPHAS   MAKE   CALLS. 

UCY,  after  the  burial,  returned  to  her  cheerless 
room.  Mildly  as  ever,  through  butternut-boughs 
pleasantly  rustling,  the  afternoon  sunshine  en 
tered.  The  brook  plashed  and  drummed;  and  high  in  a 
maple-top  on  the  forest  edge  a  wood-thrush  piped  his  sweet 
melodious  whistle. 

But  to  Luc^'  it  was  all  dreary  blank.  The  lovely  summer 
weather,  the  freshness,  the  murmur,  and  the  stir,  awoke  no 
responsive  gladness  in  her  heart.  The  thrush's  whistle,  which 
she  had  often  heard  at  that  hour  when  she  watched  by  her 
sick  babe,  stabbed  her  like  a  knife.  Even  Mrs.  Brandle's 
sympathy  seemed  a  mockery. 

"Come,  Archy,"  said  the  widow:  "I  guess  we'll  go. 
There's  such  a  thing  as  trying  too  hard  to  console  them  that 
God  has  afflicted.  If  she  gets  any  real  peace,  it  must  come 
within  herself;  and  I  feel  as  though,  if  she  should  be  left 
all  alone,  she'll  by  and  by  find  the  Comforter." 

But  the  Comforter  comes  not  as  long  as  the  spirit  clings  to 

82 


498      CHRISTINA   AND   CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS. 

any  earthly  support ;  nor  until  all  is  given  up,  and  from  the 
depths  of  the  soul  springs  the  prayer,  "  Thy  will,  not  mine, 
0  Father !  "  And  Lucy  still  clung  to  one  frail  outward 
hope, —  that  Hannah  would  return  with  some  message  of  love 
and  solace  from  Guy.  After  the  widow's  departure,  she 
closed  her  eyes  and  her  ears,  and  lay  nursing  that  hope  in  her 
bosom,  even  as  she  had  nursed  her  sick  babe.  She  prayed, 
not  to  God,  but  to  Guy.  "  Oh,  send  me  some  little  token  ! 
Save  me,  save  me,  from  this  despair  !  " 

So  she  lay  until  Hannah  returned.  And  Hannah  had  not 
seen  Guy,  because  of  the  woman  that  was  with  him  during 
the  hour  that  she  waited.  Lucy  knew  that  that  woman  was 
Christina ;  and,  with  one  wild  wail  of  misery,  she  turned  her 
face  to  the  wall.  •  • 

It  was  now  evening.  One  by  one  the  stars  came  out  of 
the  day's  blue  tent ;  Arcturus  and  Lyra  marshalling  their 
golden  cohorts,  majestical  and  silent.  0  beautiful  night! 
stillness  and  starry  gloom,  how  excellent !  But  there  is  a 
night  within  the  night :  it  envelops  the  despairing,  —  darkness 
utter  and  rayless. 

The  heavenly  hosts  passed  over.  The  glowing  urn  of 
Aquarius  tarnished  in  the  morning's  beam.  The  mists  curled, 
the  mountains  bathed  their  foreheads  in  the  red  sunrise, 
the  dew  sparkled,  and  all  the  earth  was  glad.  But  Guy 
awoke  in  prison ;  and  Lucy  still  lay  in  her  trance  of  mis 
ery. 

In  the  afternoon,  Hannah  became  alarmed  about  her,  and 


CHRISTINA   AND   CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS.     499 

went  to  consult  Mrs.  Brandle.  Jehiel  was  away.  Then 
little  Teddy  crept  up  stairs,  pushed  Lucy's  door  open  softly, 
entered,  went  to  the  sofa' where  she  lay,  and  sat  down  on  a 
stool  by  her  side. 

Strange  boy!  What  his  mother  suffered  before  he  was 
born  must  have  inspired  him  with  that  wise  sympathy,  so  ex 
traordinary  in  a  child.  He  made  no  noise,  but,  as  if  afraid 
of  waking  Lucy,  folded  his  tiny  hands,  pressed  his  quivering 
lips  together,  and  looked  at  her,  while  large  sorrowful  tears 
ran  down  his  cheeks  clear  as  lilies. 

Lucy  did  not  hear  him  at  all,  but  felt  his  presence  by  that 
sixth  sense  of  which  physiologists  make  little  or  no  account. 
When  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  him  sitting  there  on 
the  low  stool,  with  patient  hands  crossed,  and  lips  pressed 
into  silence,  while  his  tears  streamed,  she  was  touched ;  her 
frozen  grief  thawed ;  a  gush  of  love  surprised  her  ;  and  she 
caught  him  to  her  heart. 

''Teddy  loves  you,"  he  said,  putting  his  arms  about  her 
neck.  "  Don't  feel  bad  !  Poor  little  baby  !" 

"  My  darling  boy  !  God  bless  you,  my  darling  Teddy !  " 
she  sobbed ;  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  had  delivered  her 
soul  from  death. 

After  that  her  burden  was  lightened,  and  she  grew  strong 
to  bear  the  life  which  had  seemed  since  yesterday  so  utterly 
intolerable  to  her. 

And  now  Jehiel,  coming  into  the  house,  called  Hannah ; 
having  picked  up,  in  the  world's  great  wilderness,  a  little  hu 
man  waif;  namely,  our  young  friend  Job. 


500      CHRISTINA   AND    CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS. 

"I  will  go  and  get  him  something  to  eat,"  said  Lucy. 
And  with  a  heart  lightening  more  and  more  as  she  found  that 
there  was  still  love  in  the  world,  and  work  of  love  and  mercy 
to  perform,  she  went  down  and  astonished  Jehiel  by  her  new 
born  strength  and  cheerfulness. 

He  showed  her  his  forlorn  charge,  —  frightened,  wishful, 
wondering  Job,  whose  starved,  scared  looks  moved  her  pity ; 
seeming  to  say,  "I  am  an  orphan,  with  none  to  care  for  me." 
An  orphan ;  and  she  was  childless.  Then  why  should  she 
wish  to  die  ? 

"  Where's  the  doctor?""  asked  Jehiel. 

"  Gone  off.     He's  afraid,"  said  Job. 

"What's  he  afraid  of?" 

"Don't  know.  Guess  he's  afraid  he'll  be  hung.  Runs 
into  the  woods,  and  acts  orful." 

Jehiel  sat  resting  his  lame  foot,  and  questioning  the  boy ; 
and  Lucy  was  getting  him  some  bread  and  milk  ;  when  Teddy 
said,  "  Folks  coming  !  "  Jehiel  went  to  the  door,  and  admit 
ted  a  visitor  into  the  parlor. 

"  Some  one  to  see  you,  Lucy."  But  he  did  not  tell  her 
who. 

She  gave  Job  his  bread  and  milk,  and,  unsuspecting,  un 
prepared,  went  to  the  parlor ;  saw  a  lady  rise  to  meet  her  ; 
advanced  wonderingly ;  and  found  herself  suddenly  face  to 
face  with  Christina. 

"Lucy!"  said  a  low,  winning  voice.  Slowly,  step  by 
step,  backwards,  with  her  eyes  fixed  as  if  she  saw  a  serpent, 


CHRISTINA   AND    CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS;     501 

Lucy  shudderingly  recoiled.  Christina  at  the  same  time  ad 
vanced,  extending  her  hand,  and  entreating  her. 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  me?  "  demanded  Lucy  ;  at 
sight  of  whose  white  revolted  face  the  heart  of  Christina  sank 
within  her. 

"  I  come  as  a  friend,  —  as  the  friend  of  him  who  loves 
you." 

"  His  friend  !  —  my  friend  !  Hear  it,  0  Heaven  !  Well 
you  may  weep  !  "  added  Lucy.  "  You  have  dragged  him 
to  ruin  and  death ;  you  have  robbed  me  of  him  and  of  my 
babe !  I  hope  your  tears  are  sincere  !  " 

Christina  was  dumb.  For  this  was  not  the  Lucy  she  had 
expected  to  meet ;  not  by  any  means  the  soft,  passive,  plia 
ble  creature  whom  she  had  imagined  unworthy  of  Guy,  and 
so  inferior  to  herself.  The  scorn,  the  flashing  loveliness,  the 
roused  and  wronged  womanhood,  stunned  and  convicted  her ; 
and  she  saw  too  late  the  error  which  women  of  her  type  — 
the  fiery  and  restless  women  —  almost  invariably  commit, 
when  they  complacently  measure,  and  contemptuously  label 
"  Tame,"  those  other  domestic  women,  with  natures  more 
constant  but  not  colder,  more  quiet  but  not  less  deep,  than 
their  own. 

It  still  remained  for  Lucy  to  correct  her  judgment  of 
Christina,  —  a  harder  task.  Slowly  the  seeress  was  gather 
ing  into  herself  the  power  which  she  knew  so  well  how  to 
wield,  but  which  had  quite  gone  from  her  at  the  moment ; 
and,  when  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  gentle  and  sad  and 
sweet. 


502      CHRISTINA   AND    CEPHAS  MAKE    CALLS. 

"  Will  you  be  kind,  and  hear  me  a  moment?  —  not  for 
my  sake,  —  for  it  is  my  lot  to  be  misjudged,  —  but  for  your 
sake  and  for  his  sake." 

Lucy  could  not  refuse.  "  Speak ! " —  and,  trembling,  she 
sat  down.  She  was  near  a  window :  for  relief  to  her  burning 
and  agitated  feelings,  she  opened  it,  and  looked  out.  A 
stranger  was  walking  up  and  down  under  the  trees.  At  a 
glance  from  him,  full  of  that  peculiar,  surprised  interest  with 
which  certain  men  regard  a  new  and  beautiful  female  face,  she 
drew  back  instinctively.  His  respectable  manners  and  intel 
lectual  features  could  not  disguise  from  her  the  character  of 
the  man  accustomed  to  fascinate  and  to  be  fascinated.  He  took 
up  Teddy  in  his  arms,  and  gave  him  his  watch  to  play  with. 
Lucy  looked  out  listlessly  at  the  very  charming  picture  they 
made ;  while  she  heeded  with  a  jealous  woman's  ear  every 
word  of  Christina's. 

For  Christina  had  now  fairly  begun  her  good  work  ;  pour 
ing  out  her  spirit  in  a  manner  which  must  soon  have  softened 
Lucy,  and  prepared  her  for  a  perfect  reconciliation  with  Guy. 
But  the  antagonism  between  these  two  feminine  natures, 
which  had  hitherto  been  so  fruitful  of  misunderstandings  and 
mischiefs,  now  followed  them  up  with  a  new  fatality.  There 
was  a  stir  without,  a  fall,  a  scream  from  Teddy.  Lucy 
rushed  from  the  room.  Christina  ran  to  the  window,  and 
saw,  not  a  hurt  child,  but  a  woman,  swooning  on  the  turf,  — 
Lucy  hastening  to  lift  her ;  Teddy  standing  by,  dumb  with 
terror  after  his  first  scream  ;  and  the  Honorable  Cephas  Snow 
pale  as  marble,  and  fixedly  staring. 


CHRISTINA  AND   CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS.     503 

Jebiel  was  on  the  spot  in  an  instant,  demanding  to  know 
what  was  the  matter. 

"  She  came  round  the  corner,  saw  him,"  said  Lucy,  with 
a  glance  at  Cephas,  "  and  fell." 

Jehiel  glanced  at  the  Congress-man;  then  turning  his  eyes 
upon  his  wife,  with  all  his  soul  in  them,  spoke  to  her  tenderly 
as  only  a  strong,  tender  man  can  speak. 

"  Hannah  !  —  I  am  with  you  !  " 

She  clung  to  him  an  instant;  then,  recovering,  looked 
wildly  around. 

"Where  is  he?" 

-Who?     That  man?" 

"  My  boy  !  —  my  child  !  "  And  she  snatched  Teddy  to 
her  heart. 

Jehiel  and  Lucy  took  them  into  the  house.  The  Honorable 
Mr.  Snow  looked  on  with  a  glassy  countenance  ;  the  muscles 
of  his  mouth  working  as  if  he  would  speak.  Then  he  me 
chanically  smoothed  his  garments  which  Teddy  had  ruffled 
when  he  struggled  from  his  arms. 

"  Cephas,"  said  Christina,  coming  to  his  side,  "do  you 
know  that  woman?" 

"  She  seemed  afraid,"  stammered  the  Congress-man,  "  that 
I  might  do  the  child  some  harm.  Who  is  that  man  ?  —  her 
husband?" 

"  Cephas,"  —  Christina  grasped  his  arm,  and  looked  into 
his  face  searchingly,  —  "is  this  the  Hannah  that  lived  at  your 
brother's  ?  who  disappeared  mysteriously  when  it  became  ne- 


504     CHRISTINA  AND   CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS. 

cessary  to  bide  her  sbame,  and  save  your  respectability  ? 
So  our  sins  follow  not  ourselves  only,  but  live  to  plague 
others !  You  have  done  an  ill  turn  to  Guy,  to  me,  to  us  all. 
I  can  have  no  more  influence  with  Lucy,  after  such  an  inter 
ruption.  Come,  let  us  go  ;  for  this  woman  is  married,  —  may 
be  happy,  —  and  your  face  cannot  be  a  pleasant  sight  either 
to  her  or  to  her  husband." 

Mr.  Snow  stood  confusedly  wiping  with  his  white  hand 
kerchief  his  forehead,  scarcely  less  white,  when  Jehiel  came 
out. 

"  Sir  !  "  —  stepping  up  to  the  honorable  gentleman,  and 
speaking  in  a  voice  ominously  deep  and  quivering,  —  "  this 
woman  is  my  wife.  I  am  the  father  of  her  fatherless  child. 
You  could  wrong  her  once,  and  play  the  villain's  part :  but 
she  has  a  protector  now ;  and  damn  you,  Cephas  Snow,  if 
ever  you  dare  to  trouble  her  again  !  " 

The  honorable  gentleman  covered  his  forehead  with  his 
handsome  hand,  and  struggled  within  himself. 

"  I  am  not  quite  the  heartless  wretch  you  think  me,"  he 
said  with  twitching  lips.  "  If  she  knew  the  painful  uncer 
tainty  I  have  felt  on  her  account  and  the  child's !  I  think  I 
have  a  right  to  ask  to  see  the  child." 

"  You  have  ;  and  I  have  a  right  to  refuse.  She  thought 
you  had  come  to  claim  the  boy,  —  that's  what  startled 
her  :  don't  imagine  'twas  any  thing  else.  Now  go  :  you'd 
better." 

And  Cephas  went. 


CHRISTINA  AND   CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS.      505 

Christina  lingered,  seeing  Job,  forgotten  by  everybody, 
staring  out  of  the  door.  She  had  heard  of  Doctor  Biddi- 
kin's  insanity  and  flight ;  and  she  took  pity  upon  the  home* 
less  orphan. 

"  Job,  come  here."  And  he  came  obediently.  "  Where 
do  you  live  now?" 

"  Don't  live  nowheres,"  said  Job,  simply  smiling.  "  Got 
starved  out." 

"  Jehiel,"  said  Christina,  "  I  know  you,  and  honor  you. 
Though  yom  are  poor,  you  would  not  refuse  a  home  to  this 
child.  But  let  me  take  him,  and  he  shall  be  cared  for." 

The  young  farmer's  knotted  fists  relaxed,  and  his  threaten 
ing  visage  softened,  as  he  turned  from  looking  after  Cephas, 
and  confronted  Christina. 

"  If  he  will  go  with  you,  I  have  no  objection." 

"  Job,  will  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  1 "  said  Job,  brightening;  for  he  had  learned  to 
love  Christina. 

Then  she  offered  Jehiel  her  hand,  and  he  grasped  it  con 
vulsively  ;  for  his  heart  was  full. 

"  You  are  one  of  Nature's  noblemen,  Jehiel.  You  have 
done  one  of  those  rare,  courageous,  and  generous  actions 
which  redeem  the  world." 

He  knew  that  she  alluded  to  his  marriage  with  one  of  those 
whom  society  calls  fallen,  unites  to  cast  out  irretrievably,  and 
hunts  with  endless  scorn ;  and  his  manly  countenance  lighted 
up  with  a  proud  smile. 


506      CHRISTINA  AND    CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS. 

"  I  have  my  reward,"  he  said.     "  God  bless  you  !  " 

She  hurried  to  the  gate  where  Snow  was  untying  his  horse, 
and  presented  to  him  little  Job. 

"  Cephas,  behold  your  son  !  " 

"  Don't  mock  me  !  "  he  pleaded ;  for  he  had  seen  the  beauty 
of  Hannah's  child,  and  been  thrilled  by  a  parent's  yearn 
ing. 

"  Do  unto  this  fatherless  boy  as  another  has  done  unto 
yours,"  said  Christina.  "This  shall  be  your  atonement. 
You  refuse  ?  Then  I  adopt  him." 

"  It  is  very  bitter  !  "  said  he  with  a  writhing  smile.  "  But 
it  shall  be  as  you  say.  With  my  means,  perhaps  something 
can  be  made  of  him.  Let  us  both  adopt  him  :  I  will  be  his 
father,  you  his  mother.  Would  you  like  that,  my  son?  " 

"  Y-a-a-s  !  "  grinned  Job. 

And  they  took  him  between  them  into  the  carriage ;  and, 
from  that  day,  Job  wanted  not  a  home  nor  friends. 

"  We  ought  to  go  up  on  the  hill,  and  see  if  any  thing  can 
be  done  for  the  doctor,"  said  Christina.  "  And  Mr.  Murk 
—  I  feel  that  there  is  something  wrong  about  him.  When  I 
have  thought  of  him  lately,  I  have  had  a  strange  sensation  of 
starving." 

"  Guess  I  know  where  Murk  is,"  whispered  Job. 

"  Tell  us,  my  son,"  said  Christina. 

"  I  got  scaret.  Went  up  on  the  mountain,  find  doctor; 
heard  somebody  in  the  hole,"  said  Job. 

•'What  hole?  —  the  shaft?" 


CHRISTINA   AND    CEPHAS  MAKE    CALLS.     507 

"  Y-a-a-s  !     Day  o'fore  yis'dy.     Scaret  me,  and  I  run." 

"  Cephas,  turn  about !  "  exclaimed  Christina. 

Snow  remonstrated.  It  was  late :  already  the  sun  had 
dropped  behind  the  mountains ;  the  valley  was  in  shadow,  and 
it  would  be  dark  before  they  could  get  to  the  crags.  But 
Christina  enforced  her  command  with  an  imperious  gesture ; 
and  he  obeyed. 

They  arrived  at  Biddikin's  house  :  it  was  empty,  There 
they  left  Job,  and  set  out  for  the  summit.  Up  through  the 
woods  they  toiled  in  the  deepening  twilight,  and  reached  the 
shaft  just  as  the  stars  were  appearing. 

"  Murk  !  "  called  Christina  with  clear,  shrill  voice. 

"  Murk  !  "  echoed  back  the  forest  on  the  eastern  slope  ; 
but  there  issued  no  sound  from  the  shaft.  And  they  stood 
listening  on  the  sombre,  silent,  sublime  crag;  no  living 
thing  near,  —  only  a  night-hawk  sweeping  by  in  his  zigzag 
flight. 

The  night-hawk  sailed  over  the  valley,  betwixt  them  and  the 
purple  ships  of  cloud  floating  in  the  orange  sea  of  sunset,  and 
disappeared,  a  speck  in  the  expanse  of  brightness ;  leaving 
the  mountain  more  lonely  for  his  brief  visit.  Christina  gazed 
at  the  sky,  the  dim  mountainous  world  darkening  under  its 
gloriously  tinted  rim,  the  light  fading  from  the  peaks ;  and 
remembered  with  grief  the  last  time  she  stood  upon  those 
rocks,  —  the  evening  when  Guy  was  with  her,  and  she  fled 
from  him,  as  she  believed,  forever. 

"  There's  no  Murk  here,"  said   Cephas.     "  Here's  the 


508     CHRISTINA   AND    CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS. 

tub ;  and  how  could  he  get  into  the  shaft  ?    Come,  let's  go  : 
it  will  soon  be  dark." 

"  We  used  to  have  a  lantern  in  the  hut,"  replied  Christina. 
"  Have  you  matches?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  what  do  you  mean  to  do?  " 

Christina  hastened  to  the  hut,  entered  in  the  darkness,  and 
groped  till  she  found  the  lantern  hanging  in  its  place.  She 
was  returning  with  it,  when  a  dismal  groan  came  up  from  a 
corner  of  the  hut,  thrilling  her  blood  cold. 

"  What  was  that?  "  cried  Cephas  at  the  door. 

"  Give  me  a  match !  "  whispered  Christina.  A  scratch  on  the 
rough  board ;  and  she  lighted  the  lantern.  The  yellow  beams 
fell  upon  the  low  roof  and  the  beds  of  straw,  and  revealed 
an  object,  like  a  human  form,  rising  from  the  ground. 

It  was  a  man,  shrunken  and  shrivelled  to  a  mere  thing  of 
skin  and  bone.  He  rested  on  his  knees,  grimacing  with 
fright,  and  making  unintelligible  gestures  like  one  appealing 
for  mercy. 

"  Doctor  Biddikin  !  "  ejaculated  the  horrified  girl.  "  What 
are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

He  seemed  bereft  of  the  power  of  speech;  but,  in  his 
ghostly  pantomime,  he  pointed  to  something  on  his  breast.  It 
was  a  card  of  pasteboard,  suspended  by  a  string  from  his 
neck.  She  advanced  the  light  towards  it,  and  read,  scrawled 
in  large  uncouth  letters,  with  red  ink, —  or  it  might  have  been 
blood,  —  these  words  :  — 

"NOT    GUILT  Y." 


CHRISTINA   AND   CEPHAS  MAKE   CALLS.     509 

With  irrepressible  loathing,  Christina  crept  out  of  the 
hut. 

"  Speak  to  him,  Cephas  !     I  am  sick  !  " 

"Where  is  Murk,  doctor?"  asked  Cephas,  holding  the 
lantern. 

The  wretch  made  a  motion  of  putting  a  noose  about  his 
neck,  and  pointed  to  the  cross-pole  of  the  hut. 

"  We  can  get  nothing  from  him;  and  we  have  no  time  to 
loose." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Christina.  "  We  will  attend  to  him 
afterwards." 

They  went  back  to  the  shaft,  tried  the  windlass,  and, 
finding  it  safe,  prepared  the  tub  for  a  descent.  She  stepped 
into  it  with  the  lantern.  Cephas  swung  her  off,  and  slowly 
unwound  the  rope. 

Down  into  the  pit  she  goes,  lighting  it  with  a  sallow  gleam 
as  she  descends  ;  looking  up  at  the  diminishing  space  above 
her ;  peering  into  the  darkness  beneath ;  till  the  bucket  settles 
upon  the  rocky  floor,  and  the  rope  slackens  in  her  hand. 
Then  she  steps  out ;  looks  timidly  around ;  alone  in  the  tragi 
cal  place. 

Tragical  indeed  !  For  in  this  rocky  nest  the  egg  of  Fate 
had  been  hatched  for  Pelt,  untimely.  Here  Biddikin  had  dug 
the  grave  of  his  soul.  Into  this  pit  Guy  had  fallen,  by  her 
own  hand  led  to  its  brink.  Sepulchre  of  enthusiasm  and  sa 
cred  hopes  !  And,  lo  !  what  is  this? 


510      CHRISTINA   AND    CEPHAS   MAKE    CALLS. 

Within  the  cavern  branching  from  the  shaft,  bolt  upright, 
his  back  against  the  rock,  his  head  horribly  on  one  side,  his 
open  eyes  glazed  and  fixed,  never  blinking  at  the  shine  of  the 
lantern,  —  there  he  sits,  the  stolid,  silent  man. 

Let  down  by  his  disciple  into  this  rare  hiding-place ;  the 
bucket  withdrawn  to  prevent  suspicion  ;  deprived  of  all  assist 
ance  by  the  hand  of  the  law  laid  upon  Madison ;  his  small 
stock  of  provisions  got  in  at  night  failing  him ;  no  angels 
bringing  him  bread,  no  ravens  feeding  him ;  liberty  and  blue 
sky  above,  but  famine  down  there  griping  him,  — so  ended 
the  days  of  Murk,  philanthropist  and  prophet ! 

Cephas,  looking  down  into  the  lighted  bottom  of  the  pit, 
guessed  what  she  had  found.  A  minute  later  she  stepped 
into  the  tub,  and  shook  the  rope,  for  a  signal.  The  windlass 
turned,  the  lantern-gleam  crept  up  the  scraggy  walls,  and 
darkness  closed  over  the  horror. 

"  'Tis  as  well  so,"  said  Christina,  placing  the  lantern  on 
the  stones,  and  sitting  down  by  it.  "  Leave  him  to  his  rest. 
Farewell,  Moses!  But  who  would  have  thought"  —  she 
smiled  a  dreary  smile  —  "that  all  this  trouble  and  toil  and 
expense  was  —  for  what?  To  shape  a  fitting  and  magnifi 
cent  sarcophagus  for  the  great  Mr.  Murk  !  What  a  world  it 
is  !  And  I  am  sad  for  his  sake,  Cephas  !  I  suppose  he 
had  a  mother  once,  who  took  that  head  upon  her  bosom,  and 
stroked  it  fondly,  and  combed  it  into  curls.  Now  it  hangs 
there  so  heavily,  with  that  great  nose  cold  and  leaden  !  And 


CHRISTINA   AND    CEPHAS  MAKE    CALLS.     511 

the  poor  man  did  really  think  he  had  a  messiahship  :  don't 
you  think  he  did,  Cephas?  But  requiescat !  —  we  must 
leave  the  dead,  and  look  after  the  living." 

They  had  almost  forgotten  the  doctor.  But  now  they  re 
turned  to  the  hut :  it  was  empty.  Biddikin  was  gone  ;  and, 
after  searching  and  calling  in  vain  about  the  rocks,  they 
departed,  descending  the  mountain-path  by  the  light  of  the 
lantern. 


M2  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE   THE   TRIAL. 


XLVIL 

THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  TRIAL. 

HE  next  day,  Lucy  received  a  visit  from  Guy's 
attorney,  whose  errand  filled  her  with  conster 
nation. 

"  You  will  probably,"  he  said,  "  be  required  as  a  witness 
at  the  trial.  Every  effort  will  be  made  by  the  prosecution  to 
show  that  the  gold  taken  from  the  late  Mr.  Pelt  passed 
through  the  hands  of  your  friend  Mr.  Bannington ;  and  it 
is  highly  important  for  the  defence  to  know  if  there  is  any 
evidence  that  can  be  construed  as  having  a  bearing  on  that 
point." 

In  her  dismay  and  agitation,  she  could  only  answer,  "  I 
can't  be  a  witness  !  Give  me  time  to  think  of  it !  "  To 
which  ho  cheerfully  assented ;  and,  throwing  out  some  deli 
cate  hints  for  her  consideration,  withdrew. 

Alone,  face  to  face  with  the  appalling  fear  that  she  might 
be  compelled  to  give  evidence  against  her  lover's  life,  Lucy's 
first  thought  was  to  go  straight  and  drown  herself.  Then 
arose  Christina's  image,  and  with  it  a  monstrous  suspicion. 


THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE    TRIAL.  513 

Yesterday  she  could  not  divine  what  brought  that  woman  to 
her  with  tears  and  insidious  speech  ;  but  the  attorney's  busi 
ness  explained  it.  Because  she  was  baffled,  he  was  sent  to 
her ;  the  object  being  to  disarm  her  resentment  against  Guy, 
(oh,  how  little  they  knew  her  heart !)  and  to  induce  her 
to  withhold  her  testimony,  and  perhaps  even  to  perjure  her 
self,  in  order  to  save  him,  —  not  for  herself,  but  for  that 
woman  who  had  brought  all  this  evil  upon  her  and  him  ! 

Perverse  child  !  Why  would  she  not  see  that  her  jealousy 
was  unjust ;  that  her  suspicion  of  Christina's  motive  in 
visiting  her  was  unfounded  ?  Why  will  a  woman  be  —  a 
woman  ?  And  why  can't  we  all  learn  to  do  what  she  failed 
to  do,  —  to  judge  not  from  appearances,  but  to  judge  right 
eous  judgment  ?  Because  readers  of  books,  and  writers  of 
books,  and  those  of  whom  books  are  written,  if  the  books  be 
true,  are  still  made  of  the  same  old  stuff,  —  the  divine  warp 
with  the  human  filling  ;  and  to  see  our  neighbors'  hearts  as 
they  see  themselves,  or  as  God  sees  them,  requires  that  in 
us  the  filling  also  should  be  transparent  with  celestial  tints. 

That  night,  in  the  darkness,  Lucy  saw  a  light,  which 
flashed  upon  her  with  sudden  intensity,  showing  her  what 
she  should  do ;  and  the  next  day,  when  the  attorney  came 
again,  she  had  her  firm,  sad  answer  ready  :  — 

"If  I  am  called  to  testify,  I  shall  testify  to  the  truth." 
To  the  agent  of  the  prosecution  who  afterwards  visited  her, 
she  gave  the  same  response ;  and  more  she  would  not  say. 
The  result  was,  that  she  was  summoned  as  a  witness  by  both 


514  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE   TRIAL. 

parties ;  while  it  was  doubtful  if  she  would  be  required  by 
either.  Indeed,  the  object  of  the  defence  doubtless  was  — 
as  Guy's  lawyer  hinted  —  to  mislead  the  prosecution  by  as 
suming  that  her  testimony  would  be  favorable  to  the  prisoner, 
and  thus,  if  possible,  to  keep  her  out  of  the  case  altogether. 

The  trial  was  to  take  place  in  the  July  session  of  the 
court,  —  already  at  hand.  And  now  Lucy,  whose  love,  in 
spite  of  every  thing,  was  not  dead,  longed  to  visit  Guy,  but 
could  not,  because  she  knew  who  was  with  him,  comforting 
him.  Since  his  arrest,  she  had  not  seen  him ;  and  all  this 
time  she  had  received  from  him  but  one  brief  note,  in  which 
he  indirectly  asserted  his  innocence,  and  urged  her  not  to 
despair  of  him  or  of  happiness.  The  baby's  sickness  had 
prevented  her  from  answering  it ;  and  how  could  she  write 
to  him  now  ?  All  she  could  do  was  to  nurse  her  aching  heart 
alone,  and  tremblingly  await  the  event. 

Ah  !  could  she  have  looked  clairvoyantly  into  Guy's  cell 
and  into  his  heart !  Could  she  but  visit  him  this  evening,  — 
this  last  dread  evening  before  the  trial,  —  and  behold  that 
illumined  face  of  his,  and  hear  the  tones  of  his  voice  !  He 
is  sitting  on  the  bed,  his  friends  —  the  friends  she  detests  — 
before  him.  Cephas  is  there,  a  humbled  man  ;  and  the  old 
patriarch  Haddow,  lately  out  of  the  asylum,  is  wringing 
Guy's  hand  with  the  pressure  of  love  and  affliction ;  and 
Christina  is  on  a  stool  at  his  feet,  thinking  bitterly  of  the 
morrow,  and  weeping. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean?  "  the  old  man  implores  to  know. 
"  What,  my  son,  is  God's  lesson  ?  " 


THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE    TRIAL.  515 

"What  it  is  for  others,  I  do  not  know;  what  it  is  for 
myself,  I  begin  to  see ;  "  and  Guy's  smile  shines  beautifully 
in  the  light  of  the  jail-lamp.  "  Don't  cry,  my  girl !  The  ex 
perience  I  have  had,  from  the  day  I  first  saw  you  up  to  this 
hour,  I  consider  invaluable :  it  has  been  far  more  precious 
than  it  has  been  painful.  Though  I  feel  some  remorseful 
twinges,  I  really  cannot  regret  any  thing,  —  especially  when 
I  think  of  the  spiritual  insight  I  have  gained,  and  the  love 
and  faith  and  patience  of  my  soul,  which  I  feel  so  much 
greater  and  richer  within  me  than  they  were  a  year  ago,"  he 
adds,  with  a  strange  softening  of  the  countenance,  remem 
bering  that  a  year  ago,  at  this  hour,  he  was  carrying  Lucy  to 
her  new  home  in  Jehiel's  house.  Dost  thou  remember  it  too, 
Lucy,  alone  in  that  room  to-night  ? 

"  But  the  labor  for  humanity,  the  mighty  reform  so  needed," 
falters  the  white-haired  patriarch,  —  "were  we  all  deceived?" 

"  Never  believe  it !  "  says  Guy.  "  We  had  the  glimpse 
of  a  blue  ocean  of  truth  there :  only  we  made  a  slight  mis 
take  when  we  undertook  to  build  a  canal  to  contain  it.  Our 
grand  scheme  was  a  little  canal.  Every  such  artificial  attempt 
to  reconstruct  society  must  fail.  The  temple  of  the  millen 
nium  must  build  itself — as  the  body,  the  soul's  temple,  builds 
itself  —  from  the  life  within.  A  prophet  may  foresee  what 
is  to  be  :  but  neither  you  nor  I  can  set  up  for  a  prophet  yet, 
Mr.  Snow,"  —  pleasantly  smiling;  for  he  knew  that  Cephas 
had  his  theory  of  the  New  Jerusalem  in  his  pocket.  "  By 
questioning  the  needs  of  our  inmost  natures,  we  may  learn  the 


516  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE   TRIAL. 

needs  of  humanity ;  for  the  truth  of  one  soul  is  the  truth  of 
all  souls,  and  every  aspiration  is  a  prophecy.  Hints  from  this 
deep  source  are  always  helps :  they  quicken  hope,  and  so 
hasten  the  golden  era.  Beyond  this,  no  theory  is  of  any  use ; 
for  theories  are  intellectual,  —  the  more  elaborate,  the  more 
fatal.  Whatever  is  to  reach  the  soul  must  proceed  from  the 
soul :  you  must  have  fire,  and  not  machinery.  How  sugges 
tive  our  little  experiment  was,  up  there  on  the  mountain, 
Christina  !  I  have  been  thinking  how  curious  and  how  sad  it 
was  that  what  appeared  at  first  a  holy  work,  assumed,  as  we 
proceeded,  the  aspect  of  a  worldly  enterprise ;  till  we  almost  lost 
sight  of  spiritual  ends  in  the  entanglement  of  material  details. 
This  is  the  great  danger  of  every  such  undertaking  :  the  ex 
ternal  kills  the  internal.  0  my  friends  !"  —  after  a  pause, 
his  countenance  kindling,  —  "when  I  look  into  the  realm 
of  ideas,  and  touch  the  sources  of  inspiration  and  power,  I  am 
ravished  with  joy  and  worship  !  To  draw  our  daily  life  from 
those  high  springs,  and  to  lead  others  up  to  them  by  our 
good  works,  —  this  is  the  true  reform ;  this  is  what  every  one 
may  do  for  humanity.  We  may  work  together,  too,  my  dear 
old  father,  when  the  One  Spirit  moves  us  all ;  but  our  crude 
notions  of  an  organization  must  be  given  up." 

"It  may  be  so,  it  may  be  so!"  the  old  man  answers, 
full  of  emotion.  "I  scarcely  think  of  those  things  now.  I 
think  of  you,  our  leader,  —  that  solemn  consecration !  And 
now  to  find  you  here  ! —  Can  you  realize  "  —  turning  to  Chp«- 
tina — "  that  it  is  he  ?  " 


THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE   TRIAL.  517 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  be  here  as  well  as  another  man?  "  Guy 
replies.  "  I  am  not  a  murderer ;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  any 
man  ever  was  a  murderer  at  heart.  I  begin  to  sympathize  with 
the  poor  fellows,  my  brother-sinners  :  I  begin  to  see  them  as 
I  think  the  All-Father  sees  them.  Consider  me  the  worst 
criminal  that  ever  entered  these  walls ;  and  consider  too, 
my  friend  Snow,  that,  born  with  the  propensities  I  was  bora 
with,  and  placed  in  such  circumstances  as  have  made  me  what 
I  am,  you  would  have  done  precisely  what  I  have  done,  God 
permitting.  Then  where  is  your  self-righteousness  ?  If  you 
are  holy,  thank  God  for  it.  If  I  am  degraded,  help  me ;  pity 
me ;  punish  me,  if  necessary  for  my  good  or  for  the  general 
good  :  but  don't  be  vindictive,  and  don't  set  yourself  up  very 
high  over  me." 

"  Bless  you,  bless  you  for  these  words !  "  exclaims  Had- 
dow  with  streaming  tears.  "He  is  greatest  whose  charity  is 
greatest.  You  are  our  leader  still !  " 

"  Leader !  "  Guy  shakes  his  head  at  the  recollections  the 
word  calls  up.  "I  suppose  I  had  some  secret  vanity,  some 
ambitious  egotism,  that  needed  to  be  killed.  In  my  journey 
to  Boston  and  New  York  last  winter,  I  saw  no  less  than 
seven  leaders,  or  coming  men,  besides  Cephas  and  myself! 
One  of  my  competitors  claimed  that  he  was  the  greatest  intel 
lect  that  had  yet  been  vouchsafed  to  this  planet ;  and  mildly 
hinted,  that,  as  the  Divine  Being  comes  to  consciousness  only 
in  the  human  mind,  he  was,  par  excellence,  the  Divine  Being ! 
After  that,  I  was  ready  to  give  in.  Yet "  — more  seriously 


518  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE    TRIAL. 

—  "  the  consecration  had  a  deep  meaning  for  me.  One  pro 
phecy  at  least  has  been  fulfilled  :  one  reality  remains."  And, 
unlocking  a  casket,  he  takes  out  the  crown  of  thorns.  "  This, 
and  the  cross  that  was  shown  me  in  the  heavens,  —  I  under 
stand  them  now !  Christina,  my  sister,  do  not  look  at  me 
with  such  anguish  in  your  eyes.  I  thank  God  for  all !  " 

He  sits  with  the  crown  on  his  head  a  minute,  his  hands 
crossed,  his  eyes  upturned ;  then  lays  it  upon  his  Bible  on 
the  table. 

"The  cross,  and  the  crown,  and  that  book,  —  0  Christ! 
that  it  should  have  taken  so  much  to  make  me  understand 
what  is  so  divinely  simple  !  The  Bible  is  dead  to  us  because 
we  are  dead.  So  long  as  we  regard  it  as  a  record  of  an  age 
of  miracles  long  since  closed,  it  is  lost  time  turning  its  pages ; 
but,  when  we  learn  that  it  treats  of  the  possibilities  of  man  in 
all  ages,  with  what  vital  interest  we  read  !  To  see  its  light, 
the  same  light  must  be  lighted  within  ourselves.  Our  expe 
rience  explains  it,  while  it  in  turn  explains  our  experience." 

Christina  looks  up  eagerly. 

"  Guy  Bannington,  tell  me  now  one  thing.  After  all  you 
have  suffered,  notwithstanding  you  have  been  so  wronged 
and  deceived,  and  in  spite  of  all  that  is  dangerous,  ridicu 
lous,  and  impure  in  their  manifestation,  do  you  still  believe 
in  spiritual  gifts  and  in  the  holy  communion  of  spirits  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Christina,  as  firmly  and  truly  as  ever.  Beautiful 
and  sweet  and  real  to  me  is  that  faith.  I  have  been  wronged, 
deceived,  misled,  not  by  God's  truth,  but  by  man's  imperfec- 


THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE    TRIAL.  519 

tions.  The  dangers  and  crudities  you  allude  to  arise  from 
our  own  selfishness  and  ignorance,  from  defective  medium- 
ship,  and  perhaps  from  the  imprudence  of  lying  and  fanatical 
spirits.  These  are  but  clouds  in  the  heaven  that  shines  pure 
and  blue  over  all.  We  have  only  to  elevate  ourselves  in 
order  to  rise  above  them,  and  breathe  the  ether  of  inspiration 
free  from  taint.  We  may  reach  a  region  where  only  lofty 
and  holy  intelligences  can  exist,  —  where  no  impure  influence 
can  come.  Until  then,  let  us  accept  the  truth  wisely,  remem 
bering  that  God's  most  precious  gifts  to  men  are  those  which 
are  capable  of  the  worst  abuse.  We  are  not  so  foolish  as  to 
curse  the  fire  because  it  sometimes  burns  us,  or  the  sea  be 
cause  it  drowns,  or  love  because  evil  men  may  turn  it  into 
evil.  It  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to  govern  the  fire  and  ride 
the  waves,  and  so  to  live,  that  love,  which  is  the  best  of  life, 
shall  ever  remain  to  us  the  sweetest  and  the  best.  So  this 
glorious  truth  of  spirit-communion  has  laws  which  we  must 
learn  to  obey.  If  one  is  burned  by  it,  or  drowned,  or  if 
knaves  and  fanatics  make  knavery  and  fanaticism  of  it,  as 
they  never  fail  to  do  of  every  new  and  vital  religious  faith,  we 
should  recognize  these  as  merely  human  accidents,  and  not  on 
their  account  be  so  weak  and  unwise  as  to  denounce  the  truth 
itself.  No,  my  friends !  We  will  ridicule  what  is  ridiculous, 
proclaim  what  is  dangerous,  shun  what  is  false,  and  even  re 
late  our  own  failures  in  order  that  others  may  profit  by  our 
experience ;  but,  through  all,  we  will  steadily  pursue  the  truth, 
and  hold  fast  that  which  is  good." 


520  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE    THE    TRIAL. 

So  Guy  continues  to  talk  until  the  time  of  parting  arrives. 

"  Pray  for  me,  my  friends,  to-morrow  !  " 

One  by  one  they  embrace  him,  and  pass  out;  Christina 
last :  and  the  prisoner  is  left  alone,  —  to  sleep,  if  sleep  he 
can. 

Guy  in  his  cell,  Lucy  in  her  chamber,  —  the  night  passes 
over  both,  and  the  morning  of  the  next  day  dawns. 


THE    PROSECUTION.  521 


XLVIIL 

THE  PROSECUTION. 

HE  long-dreaded  day  at  last !  Such  days  come 
as  punctually  as  any.  We  cannot  perceive  that 
our  misery  makes  any  difference  with  them.  The 
great,  dull,  grinding  wheel  does  not  stop  to  consider  what  it  is 
crushing.  Over  hearts,  or  over  flowers,  it  rolls  the  same. 
Even  the  day  of  the  crucifixion  did  not  shirk  its  place  in  the 
calendar ;  did  not  delay  its  awful  coming ;  but  rose  and  set 
duly  like  the  rest. 

Lucy  thinks  of  this,  and  with  an  inward  prayer  rises  to 
meet  the  inevitable.  The  day  her  baby  was  buried  came  and 
•went,  remorseless.  She  knows,  that,  if  Guy  is  soon  to  end 
his  career  on  the  scaffold,  the  still  sheeny  morning  of  the 
execution  will  arrive  and  smile  upon  it,  and  the  night  will 
follow  with  its  stars  and  dew.  And  this,  the  day  of  the  trial, 
when  the  secret  she  carries  in  her  heart  may  be  wrenched 
from  her  by  the  torture  of  the  law,  —  this  day,  now  dawning, 
will  pass  the  same  ;  and  it  cannot  be  shunned. 

The  forenoon  is  gloomy,  drizzling,  and  chill.     She  takes 


5'22  THE    PROSECUTION. 

the  cars  with  Jehiel,  remembering  well  when  last  she  travelled 
southward  by  this  road,  —  when  Guy  made  her  flight  from 
him  a  flight  with  him,  and,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  was  glad ! 
How  different  that  morning  from  this;  that  freshness  and 
splendor  from  this  drizzle  and  gloom ;  the  heart-beats  then 
from  these  heart-beats  now  ! 

Jehiel  took  her  to  the  Mount-Solomon  House ;  and,  as  if 
by  a  fatality,  she  was  given  the  same  room  she  occupied  on 
her  return  thither  with  Guy  from  their  journey.  She  sat  down 
by  the  window  with  a  wrung  heart,  and  looked  for  the  sum 
mit  of  the  mountain,  on  whose  glory  she  feasted  her  eyes  that 
day.  But  it  was  hidden  now ;  plunged  in  stormy  cloud,  and 
draped  in  lowering  mist.  And  the  streets  she  looked  down 
upon  then,  —  the  pleasant  village  streets,  —  they  were  wet 
and  gusty  now,  and  traversed  by  the  wheels  and  umbrellas 
of  people  thronging  to  the  court-house. 

She  was  sitting  near  a  door  which  separated  her  room  from 
the  next,  and  which  divided  not  the  rooms  only,  but  also,  as 
doors  do  so  often,  two  worlds  :  on  one  side  Lucy,  gazing  across 
the  rainy  common  towards  the  court-house,  supposing  that  her 
lover's  fate  was  to  be  decided  there,  and  not  here  so  near  her ; 
while  on  the  other  side,  at  that  very  moment,  within  six  feet 
of  her,  sat  the  district-attorney  writing,  every  stroke  of  whose 
swift  pen  was  a  thread  in  the  black  cordon  he  was  twisting 
for  Guy's  neck. 

Presently  somebody  entered  that  other  room,  and  Lucy 
heard  voices. 


THE    PROSECUTION.  523 

"It's  my  opinion  it  must  be  done.  What  we  want  is  to 
strike  a  deadly  blow  against  spiritualism,  which  is  at  the  bot 
tom  of  this  whole  affair." 

"That's true;  and  I  mean  to  get  Bannington  convicted, 
if  the  thing  is  possible." 

"It's  sure,  if  we  put  in  young  Biddikin's  evidence.  Jin- 
ket  is  sure  he  can  swear  to  as  straight  a  story  as  ever  a  wit 
ness  did ;  and  it  will  tell  with  the  jury  better  than  any  thing 
else  we  can  produce :  for  we  don't  want  to  risk  the  Arlyn 
girl,  unless  we  are  obliged  to ;  though  there  ain't  much  doubt 
but  that  she  knows  about  the  gold.  My  advice  is,  that  we 
hold  her  in  reserve,  and  use  Biddikin.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

So  much,  Lucy,  terror-struck,  could  overhear;  and  the 
speakers  departed  together. 

How,  after  this,  she  got  through  the  hours  of  that  morning, 
it  would  be  hard  to  say.  Jehiel,  who  had  promised  to  bring 
her  the  news  from  time  to  time,  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her. 
She  could  only  watch  the  court-house  through  the  dark  wet 
trees,  and  imagine  what  was  doing  within  :  the  blood-thirsty 
attorneys,  the  gaping  crowd,  and  Guy  in  the  midst,  —  Gruy, 
whom  she  had  lost,  but  whom  she  loved  still  with  undying 
love. 

At  length,  some  one  came.  Faint  with  fear,  she  opened  the 
door,  and  let  in  Archy. 

"  I  see  Jehiel  over  t'  the  court;  and,  's  he  'xpects  to  have 
to  go  on  to  the  stand  agin,  he  can't  leave,  and  wanted  me  to 
come  and  tell  you." 


524  THE    PROSECUTION. 

"  You  are  not  a  witness  !  " 

"  Me  ? — no  :  guess  they  don't  want  nothin'  of  me ;  though 
I  guess,  if  they  knew  !  I  heard  some  men  say  the  most  that's 
wanted  is  a  clew  to  that  gold  "  — 

"  'Sh  !  "  said  the  terrified  Lucy,  thinking  of  the  thin  doors. 
"  Speak  low  !  What  are  they  doing?  " 

From  what  he  had  witnessed,  Archy  was  convinced  that  it 
was  all  going  against  Guy,  This,  as  Lucy  particularly  ques 
tioned  him,  he  was  compelled  to  admit.  "  But,"  he  added 
to  comfort  her,  "  t'other  side's  to  be  heard  next :  then  we'll 
hear  a  different  story." 

He  returned  to  the  court-room ;  and  again  she  waited,  — 
waited.  After  long,  dismal,  rainy  hours,  Jehiel  came  in 
with  a  countenance  gloomy  as  the  weather. 

"  Tell  me  at  once  — every  thing  —  the  worst !  "  she  said 
in  a  breath. 

"  The  lawyers  are  having  a  battle  about  a  witness  the  pros 
ecution  wants,  and  the  other  side  don't.  Mad  Biddikin  — 
he  has  offered  to  turn  State's  evidence." 

"  And  that  will  kill  Guy !     Oh,  I  know !  " 

"  If  the  court  rules  that  he  can  be  admitted,  then  the  jury 
will  take  his  testimony  for  what  it  appears  to  be  worth ;  which 
isn't  much,  in  my  judgment,"  said  Jehiel.  "We'll  know 
to-morrow." 

So  there  was  to  be  another  day  of  terrible  anxiety.  Lucy 
resolved  not  to  pass  it  there  in  that  room,  lonely,  waiting. 
Any  thing  would  be  better  than  that. 


THE    PROSECUTION.  525 

Next  morning,  it  was  raining  still.  At  an  early  hour  she 
entered  the  court-room  with  Jehiel,  who  placed  her  in  the 
witnesses'  box.  The  places  for  spectators  were  already  crowd 
ed,  and  more  without  were  trying  to  get  in ;  for  the  public  in 
terest  in  the  trial  was  intense.  Soon  the  judges  appeared, 
and  gravely  composed  themselves  on  the  bench ;  the  jurymen 
settled  in  their  places,  old-fashioned  fellows  mostly,  joking 
a  little  among  themselves  to  show  that  they  felt  altogether 
at  their  ease ;  the  lawyers  bustled  within  the  bar ;  and  Lucy, 
unregarded  and  unknown,  looked  through  her  veil  at  the  some 
how  ghastly  spectacle. 

There  were  many  faces  she  knew ;  and  among  them  she 
recognized,  with  a  start  of  pain,  Aunt  Pinworth,  unusually 
pale  and  prim,  and  Sophy,  unusually  flushed,  fanning  them 
selves.  What  had  brought  them  here  ?  And  who  was  taking 
leave  of  them,  —  the  large-framed,  gray-haired  man,  with  his 
back  towards  Lucy  ?  She  almost  stifled  where  she  sat,  as  he 
turned,  and  she  saw  the  changed  face  of  her  father.  He  was 
haggard  from  his  recent  illness ;  his  countenance  stern,  —  was 
it  with  resentment  against  her  ?  In  vain  she  had  tried  to  see 
him ;  in  vain  sent  to  him :  and  now,  though  he  walked  by 
within  arm's-reach  of  her,  she  could  not  even  put  out  her  hand 
to  him,  but  there  she  must  sit,  veiled  and  still,  with  her  heart 
swelling  and  contracting  with  anguish  and  yearning. 

He  took  his  seat  within  the  bar.  What  business  had  he 
there  ? 

A  commotion  in  the  crowd,  and  whispers  of  "  Bannington ! " 


526  THE    PROSECUTION. 

roused  Lucy.  She  expected  to  see  Guy  brought  in,  and  pre 
pared  herself  for  the  sight.  But  there  came  a  wheeled  chair 
instead,  —  the  chair  we  know,  with  the  sharp-faced  invalid  we 
know,  now  sharper-faced  than  ever,  as  he  came  to  witness  his 
son's  trial.  A  place  was  made  for  him  within  the  bar:  Arlyn 
rose  for  the  purpose ;  and  the  two  enemies,  the  two  fathers, 
looked  at  each  other. 

So  intently  was  Lucy  watching  this  scene,  that  she  did  not 
know  when  Guy  entered.  He  was  composedly  seated  in  the 
prisoners'  box  when  she  saw  him.  Then  came  silence,  and 
the  judge  talked ;  but  she  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying, 
or  heeded  any  thing  but  Guy's  interested  calm  face,  till  Madi 
son  was  brought  in. 

He  was  accompanied  by  an  officer  and  the  lantern-jawed 
Mr.  Jinket.  He  was  extremely  pale;  but  he  carried  hia 
head  with  a  resolute  brazen  air,  and  mounted  the  platform 
with  something  like  a  swagger. 

He  kissed  the  Book,  after  a  brief  exhortation  from  the  judge ; 
and  the  examination  commenced,  Guy's  counsel  acquiescing 
with  discontented  looks. 

"  Go  on,  now,  and  tell  us  what  you  know  of  the  murder." 

"  I  was  loading  a  pistol ;  when  Mr.  Murk  he  come  to  me, 
and  says  he  "  — 

' '  Never  mind  the  says  he  till  you  tell  us  when  and  where 
this  was." 

Mad's  eyes  gleamed  as  they  sought  Jinket's  face.  Jinket 
nodded  softly ;  and,  having  given  the  desired  information,  he 


\  THE    PROSECUTION.  527 

proceeded  to  relate  how  Murk  took  him  to  the  woods,  where 
they  found  Guy. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  pistol?  "  asked  the  State's 
attorney. 

"  I  took  it  along  with  me,  —  thought  I  might  shoot  some 
robins.  But  Guy  claimed  it,  and  made  me  give  it  up  to  him ; 
said  he  might  want  it  for  something  besides  birds." 

A  look  of  indignant  astonishment  ruffled  Guy's  features  a 
moment,  then  passed ;  and,  amid  a  hush  of  intense  expecta 
tion,  Mad  continued :  — 

"  I  had  brought  a  rope,  which  we  stretched  acrost  the  road 
as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  and  tied  with  a  slip-knot  to  a  tree. 
When  we  heard  a  buggy  coming,  I  stood  ready  to  pull  the 
knot  loose,  and  let  it  pass  if  it  wasn't  the  right  one.  But  we 
happened  to  ketch  Pelt  the  first  time,  as  we  knew  by  his  talk 
ing  to  his  hoss ;  and  he  got  out,  just  as  we  expected,  to  see 
what  had  stopped  him." 

Mad  explained  circumstantially  the  way  the  rope  was 
arranged,  while  every  ear  was  strained  to  listen.  Then  he 
went  on :  — 

"  It  was  awful  dark.  I  was  feeling  in  the  wagon  for  the 
money,  —  for  we  didn't  know  just  where  he  would  carry  it,  — 
when  all  to  once  I  heard  a  squabble,  and  Pelt  screamed, 
'  Murder ! '  Then  there  was  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  I 
saw  Pelt  on  the  ground,  hanging  on  to  somebody  that  was 
trying  to  shake  him  off." 

"  Who  was  that  somebody 1  " 


528  THE    PROSECUTION. 

Mad  hesitated,  and  cast  his  eyes  restlessly  about  him  for  a 
moment ;  then  rubbed  his  forehead. 

"Must  I  say  who  it  was?" 

"  You  have  volunteered  to  take  the  oath,  and  you  can  keep 
nothing  back  now." 

"  It  was  Guy  Bannington  !  "  said  Mad.  "  He  was  half  on 
his  feet,  trying  to  get  rid  of  Pelt.  Murk  stood  close  by,  with 
the  bag  of  gold  in  his  hand.  Then  I  heard  Guy  say,  '  Boys, 
he  knows  us  :  what  shall  we  do  ? '  And  Murk  said,  *  Do 
what  is  necessary  to  the  brother ! ' ' 

"Goon.     What  next?" 

"  Next  I  heard  the  pistol  go  off.  Pelt  just  give  one  groan, 
and  that  was  all.  Then  the  horse  was  scaret,  and  broke  the 
rope,  or  else  Pelt  had  got  it  untied.  He  knocked  Guy  over 
as  he  run,  and  made  him  drop  the  pistol.  He  and  Murk 
tried  to  find  it,  but  thought  they  heard  somebody  coming :  so 
we  all  run  into  the  woods." 

"  Was  there  anybody?  " 

' '  We  concluded  there  wasn't,  as  we  didn't  hear  any  thing 
more.  Guy  took  the  gold ;  and  we  went  over  with  him  by  the 
cross  road  to  the  south  road,  and  down  almost  to  Mrs.  Bran- 
die's,  when  he  told  us  to  go  home  and  keep  quiet.  Then  he 
got  over  the  fence,  and  went  towards  the  woods  again ;  and, 
supposing  he  was  bound  for  Jehiel  Hedge's,  we  turned  round, 
and  went  back." 

"  Why  did  you  think  he  was  going  there  ?  " 

"  He    was    owing    Jehiel    money.       Besides,"  —  Mad 


THE    PROSECUTION.  529 

grinned,  —  "  there  was  a  young  woman  there  he  used  to  go 
and  see  sometimes." 

He  paused.  The  audience  moved  and  rustled  with  ex 
citement.  The  jury  stirred  in  their  seats,  and  looked  sweaty 
and  convinced.  The  colonel  was  white  as  a  sheet.  Even 
Lucy,  who  up  to  this  time,  notwithstanding  every  circum 
stance  against  Guy,  had  cherished  a  secret  faith  that  he  was 
not  the  murderer,  was  overwhelmed  by  the  general  conviction 
of  his  guilt.  For  a  time,  all  things  looked  dizzy  and  blurred 
to  her.  She  heard  with  ringing  ears  the  sharp  cross-exami 
nation,  by  which  the  counsel  for  the  defence  vainly  endeavored 
to  entangle  Mad  in  his  statements.  She  saw  dimly,  as 
through  a  mist,  her  father  conversing  with  one  of  the  lawyers. 
Then  all  seemed  ended.  Mad  was  placed  in  the  prisoners' 
box  near  Guy,  and  Mr.  Jinket  came  and  leaned  over  the  rail 
near  him  with  a  satisfied  air;  and  the  prosecuting-attorneys 
smiled  triumphant. 

Well  they  might.  They  whispered  together  a  moment,  and 
probably  concluded  n,ot  to  "risk  the  Arlyn  girl."  Accord 
ingly,  one  of  them  arose,  and  announced,  that,  although  they 
had  other  witnesses,  they  considered  their  case  so  well  estab 
lished,  that  the  production  of  further  evidence  on  their  part 
would  be  superfluous. 

Then  the  junior  counsel  for  the  defence  leaped  to  his  feet. 
He  congratulated  the  jury.  They  had  already,  he  said,  been 
sufficiently  nauseated  with  perjury. 

"  You  have  listened  with  patience ;  so  have  we,  — although 
84 


530  THE    PROSECUTION. 

it  required  all  our  Christian  virtues  to  restrain  us  from  clap 
ping  on  our  hats,  and  walking  out  of  a  court  where  such  a 
gross  outrage  against  justice  and  common  sense  was  persisted 
in  by  the  learned  counsel  of  the  other  side. 

"  They  have  called  a  dozen  or  more  witnesses;  and  what 
have  they  proved  ?  First,  that  a  murder  has  been  committed ; 
which  nobody  denies.  Second,  that  the  prisoner  laid  claim 
to  the  money,  which  was  to  be  paid  by  the  Germans  for  the 
form  given  him  by  his  father ;  and  that  he  was  naturally 
anxious  about  it,  having  good  reason  to  distrust  his  agent, 
whom  he  therefore  wished  to  meet  on  his  return  home  with 
the  proceeds  of  the  sale.  This  is  all  they  have  proved ;  and 
all  this  we  readily  admit.  But  that  he  did  meet  his  agent  as 
alleged,  or  that  the  gold  ever  passed  into  his  hands,  has  not 
been  proved,  and  cannot  be  proved." 

This  was  spoken  with  an  emphasis  which  lighted  a  gleam 
of  satisfaction  in  the  faces  of  all  who  sympathized  with  the 
prisoner,  —  save  one.  Paler  still  under  its  veil  grew  that  face. 
Could  not  be  proved  ?  Lucy  knew  !  » 

The  speaker  proceeded  to  state  his  case,  promising  the  jury 
that  they  should  soon  see  the  evidence  of  Biddikin's  perjured 
son  completely  demolished,  and  the  innocence  of  the  prisoner 
as  completely  established. 

He  sat  down,  and  the  first  witness  for  the  defence  was 
called,  — 

"  BENJAMIN  ARLYN." 

And  Lucy's  father  stepped  upon  the  platform. 


THE    DEFENCE.  531 


XLIX. 

THE  DEFENCE. 

HE  appearance  of  this  most  unexpected  witness 
was  one  of  those  surprises  which  thrill  a  court 
room  of  spectators  with  fresh  interest,  and  have 
upon  the  opposing  counsel  the  effect  of  a  masked  battery  sud 
denly  opened. 

And  Lucy  and  Guy  —  what  was  the  effect  on  them  ? 

After  a  hush  of  suspense,  Arlyn's  voice  was  heard,  deep, 
earnest,  convincing.  He  related  how  he  chanced  to  be  trav 
elling  up  the  road  on  the  evening  of  the  murder ;  how  he 
heard  shrieks  and  a  pistol-shot ;  how  he  saw  by  a  lightning- 
flash  somebody  running  in  the  bushes  ;  and  how  he  afterwards 
stumbled  over  Pelt's  dead  body. 

Here  he  paused,  wiping  his  brow,  and  leaning  feebly  on  the 
rail.  The  audience  took  breath.  Thus  far,  he  had  curiously 
corroborated  Mad's  evidence ;  and  Lucy  felt  a  dreadful  appre 
hension  that  he,  too,  was  testifying  against  Guy. 

"  Go  on,  sir.     What  next  ?" 

"  I  was  overcome ;  "  and  the  big-hearted  Benjamin's  voice 


532  THE    DEFENCE. 

trembled  with  the  remembrance.  "I  had  had  some  hot 
thoughts  against  that  very  man,  and  might  have  done  him  an 
injury ;  and  to  find  him  dead  there  in  the  woods  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  shock.  I  didn't  raise  any  alarm,  nor  go  for  help, 
as  maybe  I  ought  to've  done.  I  just  got  into  the  woods  a 
little  ways,  and  sat  down  by  a  tree.  I  was  trying  to  collect 
myself,  —  for  my  head  was  buzzing,  — when  I  heard  something 
like  a  footstep.  I  hearkened,  and  was  sure  there  was  a  man 
treading  pretty  close  to  me." 

"Can  you  describe  the  lay  of  the  land  and  your  position 
at  the  time?" 

"I  can  give  some  idea  of  it.  Here  runs  the  main  road 
east  and  west,"  —  drawing  an  imaginary  diagram  on  the  plat 
form  :  "here's  where  the  murder  was.  Two  or  three  rods 
above  is  the  little  cross-road,  which  runs  south,  and  connects 
with  the  road  that  runs  south-east  from  the  village,  over  the 
mountains,  that  way.  Here,  maybe  a  couple  of  rods  from 
the  main  road,  is  a  bridge,  where  the  cross-road  crosses  the 
bK>ok.  I  was  in  this  angle,  between  the  bridge  and  the  dead 
man." 

"  That  will  do.     Now  go  on." 

"  The  man  crept  by  me,  and  seemed  to  be  groping  about 
the  spot  of  the  murder,  as  I  could  see  by  a  faint  glimmer  of 
lightning.  Pretty  soon  he  came  back,  and  stood  within  six 
foot  of  where  I  was,  and  gave  a  little  whistle.  '  Find  it  ?  '  I 
heard  somebody  say  just  behind  me.  *  No  !  cus  the  pistol ! ' 
said  the  one  that  whistled.  *  I  won't  hunt  any  longer.'  Just 


THE    DEFENCE.  533 

then  came  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  I  saw  two  men.  They 
wasn't  more  than  three  yards  from  me,  I  should  say.  The 
one  that  was  going  from  me  showed  a  side-view  of  his  face  : 
the  other,  a  little  farther  off,  was  fronting  me." 

"Did  you  know  these  men?"  was  asked  amid  profound 
silence,  broken  only  by  the  scratching  of  the  legal  pens. 

"The  one  fronting  me  I  didn't  know  :  he  struck  me  as  a 
lean  sort  of  man,  with  a  big  nose.  The  other  I  knew  well 
enough." 

Arlyn  looked  towards  the  prisoners'  box.  There  sat  Guy, 
with  his  scintillating,  expectant  eyes  fixed  on  him.  At  his 
side  was  Madison,  uneasy  and  sullen. 

' '  Let  that  young  man  stand  up :  I  mean  young  Biddi- 
kin." 

Mad  waited  to  be  ordered  by  the  court,  then  put  his  chin 
a  little  on  one  side,  inclined  his  head  a  little  on  the  other,  set 
an  arm  akimbo,  and  with  an  arrogant  and  brazen  stare  stood 
up. 

"Turn  him  a  little  around,"  said  the  witness.  "So! 
There's  the  profile  I  saw  in  the  woods  !  " 

"  And  you  saw  no  third  man  there?" 

"  No  third  man,  except  him  lying  in  the  road." 

Mad  was  then  permitted  to  sit  down  ;  and  he  sank  into  his 
seat  with  a  reckless  and  revengeful  glare,  which  contrasted 
strongly  with  Guy's  beaming,  almost  gleeful  expression.  The 
witness  continued :  — 

"  One  of  the  men  went  down  to  the  brook,  —  to  wash  him- 


534  THE    DEFENCE. 

self,  I  supposed.  Then  both  went  over  the  bridge.  The  water 
made  such  a  noise,  I  couldn't  hear  any  more  that  they  said. 
But  I  got  up,  and  watched  after  'em  ;  and,  when  it  lightened 
again,  I  saw  the  same  two  men  going  off  on  the  cross-road 
together.  That  was  the  last  of  'em." 

A  breath  of  relief  heaved  the  packed  audience ;  and  just 
then  a  procession  of  sunbeams,  leaping  from  the  clouds  to  the 
mountain-top,  and  sweeping  across  the  wet  green  valley  like 
a  golden  squadron  of  fairy  knights,  flung  their  yellow  banners 
into  the  court-room  windows  and  upon  the  heads  of  the  people. 
Lucy  saw  the  bright  omen  through  joyous,  blinding  tears. 

But  it  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  it  came,  leaving  the 
court-room  gloomier  than  before ;  and  a  chill  fell  upon  her 
heart  when  the  cross-examination  began. 

"  What  did  you  mean,  sir,  when  you  said  your  head  was 
buzzing?  " 

"  I  meant  I  had  had  my  feelings  wrought  upon,  so  that  it 
had  kind  of  confused  my  faculties  for  the  time  being." 

"  You  had  just  learned  that  the  business  you  intrusted  to 
Mr.  Pelt  had  gone  wrong?  " 

-Yes,  sir." 

"  And  that  a  member  of  your  family  had  gone  wrong 
too?" 

Arlyn  gasped  and  nodded. 

"  These  discoveries,  made  suddenly  on  your  return  home, 
when  you  anticipated  finding  your  property  safe  and  your 
daughter  happy  and  respected,  —  they  had  seriously  disturbed 
you,  had  they?" 


THE    DEFENCE.  535 

"I  —  I  was  shaken  !  "  faltered  the  old  man,  clutching 
the  rail. 

"  Then  to  find'  the  man  you  were  in  pursuit  of  dead  in  the 
woods,  was,  you  say,  a  very  great  shock  ?  —  it  produced  a  buz 
zing  ?  How  long  did  it  continue  ?  " 

"I  can't  say  that  my  head  was  free  and  clear  again  that 
night." 

"  And  you  remained  in  the  woods  after  losing  sight  of  the 
two  men?" 

' '  I  was  tired,  —  worn  out  in  soul  and  body,  I  may  say ; 
and  I  laid  down  in  the  woods." 

"Rather  wet,  wasn't  it?" 

"  I  didn't  mind  that.  I've  laid  on  the  wet  ground  many  a 
time  in  California  "  — 

"  Never  mind  your  California  adventures  now.  How  long 
did  you  lie  there?" 

"I  can't  say  exactly.  It  might  have  been  an  hour;  it 
might  have  been  two  or  three  hours." 

"  You  were  not  in  a  very  clear  state  of  mind,  then  ?  " 

Arlyn  wiped  his  face  again,  struggling  with  his  feelings ; 
then  answered  with  the  sternness  of  a  tortured  but  forbearing 
man,  — 

"I  have  told  you." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  I  wandered  about  till  I  came  to  Widow  Brandle's  house, 
who  took  me  in." 

"  Widows  are  very  kind ;  they  do  sometimes  take  in  folks," 


536  THE    DEFENCE. 

said  the  lawyer,  to  raise  a  laugh,  and  confuse  the  witness ; 
while  the  latter  frowned  with  dignified  contempt.  "  Well, 
what  happened  after  she  took  you  in  ?  " 

"  I  remember  she  and  her  son  behaved  like  Christians  to 
me  ;  which  I  can't  say  of  everybody.  But  what  happened 
that  day  and  some  days  after  is  still  confused  in  my  mind ; 
and  I  wouldn't  like  to  swear  to  any  thing." 

"You  had  a  fever  and  delirium  ?  " 

"  They  tell  me  I  was  a  little  out  of  my  head,"  said  Arlyn, 
leaning  tremblingly  on  the  rail. 

"  You  have  hardly  recovered  yet,  have  you?  " 

"  I  ain't  strong  yet;  but,  when  I  heard  last  night  that 
young  Biddikin  was  going  to  turn  State's  evidence,  I  made  up 
my  mind  "  — 

"  Never  mind  how  you  made  up  your  mind.  A  member 
of  your  family  has  reason  to  feel  a  strong  interest  in  the 
prisoner's  welfare  :  is  it  not  so?  " 

The  old  man's  chest  heaved,  and  his  eyes  kindled  ;  but  he 
was  dumb.  The  question  was  objected  to  by  Guy's  counsel. 
The  prosecution  insisted. 

"  What  we  wish  to  show  is  that  the  witness  has  a  secret 
bias  in  favor  of  the  prisoner.  Not  that  he  means  to  perjure 
himself,  —  we  acquit  him  entirely  of  any  such  intention ; 
but  the  confused  state  of  mind  he  has  been  in,  by  his  own 
account,  ever  since  the  evening  of  the  murder,  renders  it  prob 
able  that  he  will  give  evidence  according  to  what  he  imagines 
or  desires,  but  not  at  all  according  to  facts." 


THE    DEFENCE.  537 

Then  the  old  man  answered,  — 

"  I  have  not  seen  my  daughter;  and  whatever  she  may 
feel  is  nothing  to  me.  As  for  myself,  I  have  no  reason  to 
love  any  of  the  name  of  Bannington." 

"  Then  how  happens  it  that  you  come  here  and  offer  your 
self  as  a  witness  for  the  prisoner  ?  " 

"I  set  out  to  tell  you  once,"  said  the  old  man  grimly; 
"  but  you  seem  as  afraid  of  a  grain  of  truth  as  a  Mexican  is 
of  a  bullet." 

"Well,  tell  us  now." 

"  I  came  here  because  I  felt  that  Biddikin  was  going  to 
perjure  himself;  and  because,  though  I  may  hate  a  man,  I 
love  to  see  justice  done." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  make  known  before  what  you  heard 
and  saw  —  or  imagined  you  heard  and  saw  —  with  that  buz 
zing  head  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  told  you,  I  have  been  sick.  I  have  but  just  got  out 
again ;  and,  with  the  feeling  I  had  towards  the  Banningtons, 
I  was  in  no  hurry  to  give  myself  up  to  be  teased  and  worried 
by  lawyers." 

The  laugh  was  against  the  attorney ;  and,  finding  that  he 
was  on  the  wrong  track,  he  made  haste  to  come  back  to  the 
buzzing  in  the  head ;  putting  the  most  ingenious  questions  to 
confuse  the  old  man,  and  to  prove  by  his  own  admissions 
that  he  was  not  a  competent  witness  in  the  case.  Poor  Lucy 
listened  with  dismay  and  grief.  In  vain  the  defence  inter 
posed.  At  length,  Arlyn  turned  to  the  bench. 


538  THE    DEFENCE. 

"  I  ask  protection.  I  am  not  well.  I  came  here  to  speak 
the  truth,  like  an  honest  man.  I  have  done  it,  to  the  best 
of  my  ability  ;  and  I  hope  I  am  not  to  be  kept  here  to  make 
sport  for  the  Philistines." 

There  was  a  grandeur  of  sorrow  about  the  shattered  stalwart 
man  which  suited  well  the  comparison  of  himself  to  old  Sam 
son  bound  and  blind.  After  that,  the  prosecution  let  him  go, 
for  very  shame. 

Colonel  Bannington  was  called,  lifted  upon  the  platform  in 
his  chair,  and  sworn.  He  testified  respecting  the  gold  which 
was  flung  in  at  his  window,  and  footsteps  which  were  found 
outside  next  morning.  And  now  Archy  turned  ghastly 
where  he  stood,  and  Lucy  trembled. 

"  I  knew  the  footsteps,"  said  the  colonel.  "  I  can  swear 
very  positively  about  them.  They  were  made  by  a  pair  of 
boots  which  used  to  belong  to  me.  They  had  very  peculiar 
heels ;  "  which  he  proceeded  to  explain.  "  I  never  had  but 
two  such  pairs  of  boots,  or  saw  any  others  like  them." 

At  this  point,  Archy  would  certainly  have  sunk  to  the  floor 
but  that  the  crowd  in  which  he  was  jammed  held  him  up. 
Guy  looked  more  uneasy  than  he  had  at  any  moment  during 
the  trial ;  and  Lucy  believed  that  all  was  over. 

"  The  footsteps,"  continued  the  colonel,  "were  made  that 
night,  and  made  by  a  pair  of  those  boots.  I  gave  one  pair 
to  Madison  Biddikin  last  summer,  when  he  worked  for  me  : 
I  believe  he  stole  the  other  pair ;  for  they  disappeared  about 
the  same  time." 


THE    DEFENCE.  539 

Mad  gave  a  snort  of  angry  contempt.  It  was  well  he  did 
not  know  —  it  was  well  the  colonel  did  not  know  —  that  a 
pan:  of  those  boots  were  pinching  Archy's  feet  at  the  moment. 
They  had  been  presented  to  him  by  Guy,  and  worn  by  him 
on  the  evening  when  he  disposed  of  the  gold  for  Lucy.  Had 
but  his  name  been  mentioned  in  connection  with  them,  he 
would  have  been  summoned  to  the  stand,  and  Mad  would 
have  remembered  seeing  him  near  Bannington's  orchard  that 
night,  and  the  gold  would  have  been  traced  back  to  Lucy 
and  to  Guy.  It  was  a  narrow  escape :  his  name  was  not 
mentioned,  —  not  even  during  the  cross-examination,  when  the 
colonel  was  asked  if  he  had  had  no  other  person  at  work  for  him 
to  whom  he  might  have  given  a  pair  of  the  boots,  and  forgotten 
the  circumstance.  He  swore  very  roundly  on  that  point ; 
and  Archy,  squeezing  himself  out  of  the  press,  and  gaining 
the  open  air,  felt  like  one  delivered,  weak  and  shaking,  from 
the  jaws  of  lions.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  hurry  home 
and  change  his  boots ;  thus  missing  the  most  exciting  part  of 
the  trial. 

For,  when  the  defence  had  got  their  evidence  all  in,  then 
came  the  rebutting  testimony  of  the  other  side.  Abner  was 
recalled ;  and  Mrs.  Pinworth  was  brought  upon  the  stand  to 
testify  to  Arlyn's  mental  state  the  evening  before  and  the 
morning  after  the  murder.  Little  was  accomplished  with 
these  witnesses.  It  then  became  highly  important  to  refute 
the  evidence  concerning  the  boots  and  the  gold.  The  testi 
mony  of  Madison,  on  which  so  much  reliance  had  been 


540  THE    DEFENCE. 

placed,  required  to  be  supported  by  a  bold  effort ;  and  the 
prosecution,  after  a  whispered  conference,  resolved,  that,  all 
things  considered,  they  ought  to  "  risk  the  Arlyn  girl." 
And  Lucy's  name  was  called  in  open  court. 

With  a  great  bound  of  the  heart,  she  heard.  Every  thing 
turned  dark  to  her  for  a  minute ;  then  a  hand  touched  her 
arm. 

"  You  will  have  to  go.     Be  strong,"  said  Jehiel. 

He  assisted  her.  She  was  conscious  of  rising  in  a  sort  of 
stupor,  and  of  walking  blindly  where  he  led  and  her  me 
chanically-moving  feet  carried  her,  but  noted  nothing  dis 
tinctly  till  she  found  herself  on  the  platform,  seated,  veiled, 
in  a  chair. 

Then  she  knew  what  the  noise  was  that  sounded  in  her 
ears  like  the  rushing  of  waters.  It  was  the  stirring  of  the 
multitude,  — the  human  sea,  upon  which,  like  a  weak  weed, 
she  was  momentarily  heaved  and  tossed. 

All  round,  from  floor  to  gallery,  and  from  wall  to  wall,  in 
windows  and  doors,  and  in  spaces  beyond  windows  and  doors, 
heads  upon  heads,  and  faces  beyond  faces,  was  one  vast 
staring,  eager,  tip-toe  throng,  devouring  her  with  its  thou 
sand  eyes. 

"  Will  you  please  remove  your  veil  ?  "  said  a  voice. 

She  uncovered  her  face.  A  shadow  and  a  hush  fell  in 
stantly  upon  all  that  numerous  assemblage.  Especially  those 
were  touched  —  and  they  were  many  —  who  had  known  her 
in  the  bloom  of  her  beauty,  and  now  saw  her  first  since  the 


THE    DEFENCE.  541 

change  her  sorrows  had  wrought.  She  looked  like  the  dis 
embodied  spirit  of  herself,  —  lovely  still,  and  all  so  white 
and  thin,  that  even  strangers,  who  had  never  seen  her  till 
then,  were  thrilled  with  pity  and  awe. 

She  did  not  look  about  her.  She  dared  not  see  her  father, 
whose  irrepressible  groan  she  heard.  She  felt  Colonel  Ban- 
nington's  glittering  eyes.  One  glimpse  of  Guy's  anxious, 
melting  look  of  love  was  all  she  could  bear.  Chancing  then, 
she  knew  not  why,  to  lift  a  glance  to  the  gallery,  she  saw 
fixed  upon  her  Christina's  burning  gaze.  Still  less  did  she 
know  why,  from  that  moment,  strength  flowed  into  her ;  or 
why,  when  the  Book  was  given  her  to  kiss,  and  the  memory 
of  the  truth  she  must  now  speak  came  with  a  shock,  she 
grew  so  calm  and  firm. 

She  was  asked,  did  she  know  the  prisoner  ? 

"I  do,"  she  said;  and  her  voice,  though  low,  was  so 
clear,  that  it  was  heard  to  the  farthest  part  of  the  house. 

Did  she  see  him  on  the  night  of  the  murder  ?  And  she 
said,  in  the  same  silvery,  distinct  voice,  — 

"  I  cannot  answer." 

The  attorney  smiled  persuasively,  reminding  her  that  she 
had  taken  an  oath  to  utter  the  truth. 

"Yes,  sir,  —  the  truth,"  she  said,  and  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"  Then  why  cannot  you  answer  ?  " 

"Because"  — 

She  paused,  then  lifted  her  eyes  as  if  making  a  solemn 


542  THE    DEFENCE. 

declaration  to  the  world  ;  and  her  brow  was  pure  and  beauti 
ful  as  she  added,  — 

"A  wife  cannot  give  evidence  concerning  her  husband." 

The  attorney  smiled  incredulously. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  assert  that  you  are  the  prisoner's  wife  ?  " 

"  I    AM    HIS    LAWFUL   WIFE." 

Guy  dropped  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  shook  convulsively 
an  instant ;  then  lifted  it  again,  shining  with  joy  and  tears. 

And  now  the  spectators  began  to  grasp  the  full  significance 
of  her  words,  - —  HIS  WIFE  !  They  were  buzzed  from  mouth 
to  mouth.  The  sensations  awakened  by  the  beauty  and  dis 
tress  of  Lucy  could  no  longer  be  repressed.  The  murmur 
began  simultaneously  in  all  parts  of  the  house  :  it  was  taken 
up  by  the  crowd  without,  and  greeted  with  cheers ;  and 
finally  the  entire  multitude  gave  way  to  its  enthusiasm  in  a 
burst  of  applause. 

This  noisy  and  irregular  demonstration  was  quickly  hushed ; 
not  by  the  officers,  who  bestirred  themselves  in  vain,  but  by 
an  incident  which  changed  the  general  joy  and  admiration 
back  agaifl  to  pity  and  suspense.  Lucy  had  risen  to  hand  a 
paper  to  the  judge,  —  her  marriage  certificate.  Then  her 
strength  failed  her;  she  reeled.  With  a  cry,  her  father 
sprang  forward,  and  she  fell  fainting  in  his  arms. 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  543 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

HEN  next  Lucy  opened  her  eyes,  she  was  lying 
on  a  lounge  in  an  office-room.  Two  or  three 
women  were  attending  her,  and  Mrs.  Pinworth 
was  sitting  up  stiff  in  a  chair  at  her  side. 

That  excellent  female  had  nearly  undergone  petrifaction  : 
she  was  almost  a  Niobe ;  having,  at  one  fell  swoop  of  the 
avenging  deities,  lost  a  whole  family  of  very  dear  expecta 
tions. 

"  Father  !  —  where  is  he  ?  "  said  Lucy,  who  had  surely  — 
or  was  it  only  a  dream  ?  —  felt  herself  in  his  arms  a  minute 
since. 

At  that  the  marble  woman  began  to  bend  a  little. 

"Are  you  better,  my  dear?"  —  and  the  stony  hands 
smoothed  Lucy's  forehead,  and  the  striated  countenance 
wrinkled  itself  into  a  smile.  "  Why  did  you  ever  deceive 
your  dear  auntie,  my  child  ?  I  have  always  loved  you  as  my 
own  daughter :  don't  you  know  I  have  ?  " 

"I  want  my  father!"  exclaimed  Lucy,  trying  to  rise. 
"  Who  took  me  away  from  him  ?  " 


544  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

"Your  poor  father  is  very  much  grieved  and  offended; 
but  I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  have  him  reconciled  to  my  dear 
niece  ;  "  and  the  limestone  lips  actually  kissed  Lucy  !  "  You 
know  how  he  hates  the  Banningtons ;  but  let  us  pray  that 
he  may  be  led  to  see  the  duty  of  forgiveness.  Forgiveness 
is  the  great  Christian  virtue,  my  dear."  Pious  Pin  worth 
was  herself  again. 

At  that  moment,  Abner  came  rushing  in,  his  capillary 
torch  uncovered  and  wildly  flaming. 

"  Something's  the  matter  with  Sophy  !  "  he  gasped  in  the 
widow's  ear. 

"Sophy!     Where  is  she?" 

"  In  the  jailer's  house.     Come  quick  !  " 

It  was  a  distracting  moment  to  the  widow.  She  had  has 
tened  to  take  Lucy  away  from  her  father ;  and  it  was  her 
policy  to  keep  them  separated,  at  least  until  (if  a  reconcilia 
tion  was  inevitable)  she  could  assume  the  role  of  a  mediatress 
between  them.  But  Abner 's  alarm,  and  perhaps  her  own 
suspicions  of  Sophy's  danger,  dashed  her  purpose,  and  she 
fled  in  confusion. 

Then  Lucy,  with  tremulous  faintness  and  longing,  waited 
for  her  father.  But  he  kept  aloof.  The  parental  impulse, 
with  which  he  received  her  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  from  the 
court-room,  had  been  followed  by  a  bitter  revulsion.  Mrs. 
Pinworth's  spirit  still  worked  within  him.  Incessantly,  dur 
ing  his  sickness  and  convalescence,  when  he  was  weak  and 
susceptible,  she  had  been  poisoning  his  mind  against  Lucy ; 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  545 

and  now  all  that  he  had  been  induced  to  believe  of  her  un- 
dutifulness  and  deceit  seemed  confirmed.  That  she  was  not 
Guy's  victim  merely,  but  his  wife  by  a  private  marriage,  did 
not  console  him.  She  was  guilty,  not,  as  he  had  supposed, 
of  a  weakness  which  might  be  pardoned,  but  of  a  perversity  of 
will  which  was  unpardonable.  She  had  married  the  son 
of  his  worst,  his  most  malicious  enemy,  —  a  deliberate  act. 
Then,  for  the  meanest  of  all  considerations,  that  of  property, — 
the  Bannington  property  even,  —  she  had  lived  for  a  year 
a  life  o£  deception  and  disgrace. 

So  the  old  man,  full  of  prejudice  and  passion,  judging  from 
appearances,  but  ignorant  as  a  block  of  Lucy's  inner  life,  con 
demned  her,  and  tortured  himself,  in  his  impetuous,  violent 
way.  He  was  walking  to  and  fro  by  the  court-house,  grind 
ing  the  gravel  under  his  agitated  feet,  when  he  saw  Abner 
come  out  of  the  jailer's  house,  after  conducting  his  future 
mother-in-law  into  it.  Immediately  his  great  heart  warmed 
towards  Abner.  He  must  have  somebody  to  love  and  to 
benefit ;  and  it  was  a  relief  to  turn  from  his  harsh  thoughts 
of  Lucy  to  kind  thoughts  of  his  worthier  relatives. 

"  Come  here,  Abner.  I've  been  thinking  what  I  shall  do 
with  that  new  house  Pelt  built  with  my  money.  How  would 
you  like  that  house  when  you're  married?  " 

Abner  writhed  all  over  with  an  inane,  bilious  grin.  He 
gasped,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  Why,  Abner  !  are  you  sick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  some  sick  !  " 

85 


546  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  his  sympathizing  prospective 
uncle. 

"  I  rather  guess  the  excitement  has  been  too  much  for 
Sophy  !  The  truth  is,  —  may  as  well  say  it,  —  Mrs.  Pin- 
worth's  a  grandmother  by  this  time,  or  will  be  shortly." 

"  Abner  !  — you  don't  mean  —  Sophy  !  "  — 

"  You  can  imagine  my  feelings  !  "  said  Abner.  "  I  never 
suspected  any  thing ;  and  we  was  to  be  married  next  week,  you 
know  !  And  we  might  have  been,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  to-day. 
Miss  Arlyn,  — I  mean  Mrs.  Bannington,  beg  her  pardon,  — 
her  coming  out  so  handsomely  in  court  seemed  to  hurry  up 
the  business.  I  must  say,"  added  redhead,  "it  seems  to  me 
to  be  a  judgment  on  mother  and  daughter  for  treating  Mrs. 
Bannington  so  heartlessly." 

"  Abner  !  "  frowned  the  old  man,  "  I  thought  better,  of  you 
than  that!" 

"  Me  !  "  Abner  almost  wriggled  out  of  his  sleeves,  rubbing 
his  freckled  hands.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  —  good  Heavens  ! 
I  assure  you  I  was  strictly  honorable.  I  was  even  too  inno 
cent.  I  have  been  duped  in  the  most  shameful  way.  And 
allow  me  to  say,  you  have  been  duped  too,  Mr.  Arlyn.  They 
never  meant  you  should  make  up  with  your  excellent  daugh 
ter  ;  which  I,  being  in  the  interest  of  the  family,  knew  all 
about  it.  They  came  to  the  trial  to-day,  so  as  to  keep  you 
and  Miss  Lucy  —  beg  her  pardon,  Mrs.  Bannington  —  from 
seeing  each  other.  There's  where  the  deceit  has  been  !  You 
was  expected  to  settle  a  fortune  on  Sophy,  when  she  got  mar- 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  547 

ried ;  and  after  that  I  suppose  they  thought  I  could  afford  to 
play  father  to  Mad  Biddikin's  baby  !  " 

Stunned  and  staring,  the  old  man  stood  and  twisted  his 
gray  locks  in  his  shaking  fingers.  Perhaps  he  was  feeling  to 
assure  himself  that  the  top  of  his  head  was  safe,  after  the  per 
fect  flood  of  light  that  had  been  all  at  once  poured  in  upon 
his  great,  stupid,  startled  brain. 

While  he  stood  thus,  a  cry  reached  his  ears.  He  turned, 
and  saw  fluttering  towards  him  Lucy,  with  appealing  counte 
nance  and  outreaching  hands.  In  an  instant,  Mrs.  Pin- 
worth,  with  all  her  evil  counsel,  was  swept  into  oblivion. 

"  Father  !  dear  father  !  —  love  me  !  forgive  me  !  " 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !  "  sobbed  the  old  man. 

And  Lucy  was  folded  to  his  breast.  After  all  her  trials, 
she  reposed  on  that  tumultuous,  fond  heart. 

Abner  wriggled  away. 

Mr.  Arlyn  took  Lucy  to  a  bench  under  a  tree ;  and  there 
they  sat  breathing  the  blessed  air  of  reconciliation,  when  he 
told  her  what  had  happened  to  her  cousin. 

"  Poor  Sophy !  how  I  pity  her !  "  exclaimed  Lucy,  who 
had  learned  by  fiery  experience  how  to  compassionate  the 
woman  whom  the  world  condemns. 

They  had  many  things  to  say  to  each  other  which  could 
not  be  said  then  and  there  ;  and  they  arose  to  go.  At  the 
same  time,  Aaron  and  Jehiel  carried  a  burden  between  them 
down  the  court-house  steps.  Lucy  recoiled,  and  clung  to  her 
father's  arm.  His  honest,  earnest  face  was  working  with 


548  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

emotion  as  he  looked  on  the  wreck  of  him  who  had  once  been 
his  friend.  All  melted  and  humbled,  in  that  hour  of  love 
and  forgiveness  he  could  hold  his  resentment  no  longer.  Ho 
advanced,  leading  Lucy,  and  stood  face  to  face  with  his  foe. 

"  George  Bannington,  I  offer  you  my  hand  !  " 

The  colonel  looked  up  like  a  wounded  snake  from  its  coil, 
and  answered  nothing. 

"  I  offer  you  my  hand,  and  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  remem 
ber  that  we  were  friends  once,  and  that  I  have  said  and  done 
many  things  in  passion  that  I  shouldn't ;  and  I  humbly  entreat 
your  pardon." 

The  invalid's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  glanced  from  father  to 
daughter ;  but  neither  the  tears  and  beauty  of  the  one,  nor 
the  manly  frankness  and  contrition  of  the  other,  appeared  to 
touch  him. 

"  Well,  be  it  so  !  "  And  the  old  man  withdrew  the  prof 
fered  hand,  and  laid  it  on  his  heart.  "  But  it  makes  me 
ache  here,  George  Bannington,  to  think  that  ever  you  and  I 
should  meet  as  we  meet  now.  Life  wasn't  given  us  to  be 
wasted  in  such  misunderstandings  and  hatreds.  I  don't  speak 
for  the  sake  of  property  :  I  have  enough  for  my  daughter 
and  me.  All  we  want  of  you  is  your  good  will.  We  don't 
know  how  this  trial  will  turn  out :  she  may  soon  be  a  widow ; 
you  may  soon  be  a  childless  old  man." 

The  invalid's  jaw  worked  silently,  with  some  inward  con 
vulsion  ;  but  still  he  refused  the  thrice-proffered  hand. 

"  I  didn't  suppose  any  father  could  sit  at  his  son's  trial,  as 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  549 

you  have  to-day,"  said  the  old  man  solemnly,  "  and  hear 
and  see  what  you  have  heard  and  seen,  without  having  his 
pride  broke  down.  But  I  leave  you  to  God  and  your  own 
conscience.  We  have  been  in  court  together  before,  —  too 
often.  When  we  meet  again,  it  may  be  at  a  different  bar, 
and  sooner  than  we  think.  George  Bannington,  good-by  !  " 

The  colonel,  still  speechless,  gnawing  his  tongue,  made  an 
impatient  movement ;  and  Aaron  wheeled  him  away. 

"  Jehiel,"  then  said  Mr.  Arlyn,  "  you've  done  my  daugh 
ter  kindnesses  we  can  never  pay  you  for.  But  I  want  you 
to  do  one  more.  I've  got  a  horse  to  the  tavern  :  I  wish  you'd 
have  him  got  out,  and  bring  him  here.  I  can't  leave  my 
child,"  he  added  with  deep  tenderness;  "  and  she  ain't  well 
able  to  walk." 

He  took  Lucy  back  to  the  bench,  where  they  waited.  It 
was  now  late  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  not  necessary  that 
they  should  remain  longer  in  the  village.  They  could  not 
help  Mrs.  Pinworth  in  her  trouble  ;  and  the  trial  was  expected 
to  continue  the  next  day.  Both  longed  to  get  away  from  the 
fever  and  excitement,  of  which  the  very  atmosphere  of  the 
place  seemed  filled  ;  and  Lucy  knew  where  she  wished  to  be 
with  her  father  then,  —  a  quiet  spot,  where  they  could  have 
solitude,  communion,  and  rest. 

Jehiel  came  with  the  horse.  Arlyn  gave  him  some  money 
to  give  to  Mrs.  Pinworth ;  then  helped  Lucy  into  the  wagon, 
and  rode  away  with  her  into  the  broad,  beautiful,  cool  green 
valley,  by  the  river's  banks. 


550  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

They  went  where  Lucy  wished  to  go,  and  stopped  at  a 
familiar  gate,  which  divides  the  busy  world  of  the  living 
from  the  tranquil  place  of  the  dead. 

They  entered  with  still  feet.  The  air  was  full  of  freshness 
and  fragrance,  which  the  earth  breathed  forth  after  the  storm. 
The  robins  were  singing  their  evening  song.  The  sunlight 
gilded  the  long  grass.  There  were  lambs  feeding  peacefully 
among  the  graves. 

To  a  little  hillock,  under  a  mountain  ash,  they  walked  in 
silence.  It  was  the  first  time  the  father  of  Lucy  had  visited 
the  spot  since  his  return.  There  was  his  wife's  grave,  over 
which  the  tears  of  past  years  had  been  shed  ;  and  he  needed 
not  to  be  told  that  the  little  mound  by  its  side  covered  the 
ashes  of  the  infant  Agnes. 

For  a  long  time,  without  speaking,  Lucy  wept ;  not  tears 
of  the  old,  insupportable  agony,  but  of  relief  and  peace.  Then 
she  sat  down,  leaning  upon  her  father's  breast ;  and  they 
talked  of  the  days  of  their  separation. 

Soon  the  sexton,  who  had  been  digging  in  a  remote  corner 
of  the  grave-yard,  passed  that  way. 

"  Another  grave  ?     Who  now  ?  J>  asked  Mr.  Arlyn. 

"  The  last  man  ever  I  expected  to  make  a  grave  for  !  " 
said  the  sexton,  leaning  on  his  spade.  "  'Twas  generally 
supposed  he  would  dry  up  and  blow  away.  His  brother  from 
over  the  mountains  came  for  him,  to  have  him  sent  to  an 
asylum ;  for  he  was  crazy  as  a  March  hare.  After  hunting 
for  him  two  days,  they  found  him  this  morning  in  the  woods. 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  551 

He  was  lying  across  a  bank,  close  by  a  hole  that  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  freshly  dug.  There  was  a  shovel  by  his  side ; 
and  on  his  neck  was  a  large  pasteboard  label,  tied  on  with  a 
string.  The  label  had  had  printed  on  it  with  a  pen  the  words, 
'  Not  Guilty ; '  but  afterwards  the  Not  had  been  scratched 
out.  That,  taken  together  with  another  circumstance,  looks 
terrible  mysterious.  In  the  bottom  of  the  hole,  only  half 
covered,  was  some  human  remains, — bones  and  so  forth. 
Some  of  his  neighbors  thought,  by  his  wearing  that  placard, 
that  he  was  some  way  mixed  up  with  the  Pelt  murder  :  but 
now  it  seems  as  though  it  had  reference  to  these  remains, 
which  are  supposed  to  belong  to  a  boy  that  used  to  live  with 
him ;  and  it  looks  as  if  his  conscience  had  troubled  him  about 
'em,  till  he  finally  got  crazy.  It  may  be  so,"  added  the 
grave-digger :  "all  I  know  is,  guilty,  or  not  guilty,  this  is 
the  last  of  Doctor  Biddikin." 

So  saying,  he  shouldered  his  spade,  and  walked  away. 

"  Another  of  the  wretched  is  at  rest,  thank  God  !  "  said 
the  old  man.  "What  are  you  thinking,  my  daughter?" 
for  her  countenance  was  troubled. 

"  Of  that  boy's  grave  in  the  woods!  It  was  true,  then  ! 
And  I  have  been  to  blame  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

Then  she  told  him  how  Guy  and  Christina  had  discovered 
Martin's  grave,  and  learned  the  history  of  it ;  and  how  she, 
when  the  story  was  told  her,  had  scoffed  at  it,  believing  it  a 
trick,  invented  to  deceive  Guy. 


552  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  not  been  jealous,  if  I  had  not  been  preju 
diced  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  If  I  had  been  willing  to  accept 
what  was  true,  I  might  have  saved  him  from  what  was  false. 
But  I  lost  my  influence  with  him  by  my  unreasonableness  ; 
and  so  I  lost  him  !  And  if  he  is  convicted,  if  he  dies  !  "  — 
She  wrung  her  hands,  and  bent  her  head  in  anguish  down  over 
her  baby's  grave. 

"  My  child  !  — Lucy  !  "  said  her  father,  gently  trying  to 
lift  her ;  * '  come  ! ' ' 

"I  won't  ask  you  to  stay  with  me  ;  but  let  me  stay !  "  she 
pleaded.  "  Often  I  have  longed  to  lie  here  all  night,  and 
be  wet  with  the  same  dews  that  wet  my  baby's  grave.  And 
now,  if  I  could  only  wait  here  till  the  trial  is  over,  and  I  know 
his  fate  !  But  it  is  foolish.  Yes,  father  :  I  will  go." 

She  arose,  supported  by  his  arm.  Then,  when  they  had 
taken  leave  of  the  spot,  and  were  turning  to  go,  they  looked, 
and  lo !  a  man  stood  before  them,  whose  sudden  apparition 
there  astonished  and  thrilled  Lucy,  as  if  an  angel  of  heaven 
had  visibly  descended  and  stood  among  the  graves. 


THE     VERDICT.  553 


LI. 

THE  VERDICT. 

EANWHILE,   at    the    court-house,    surprising 
events  had  taken  place. 

The  attempt,  on  the  part  of  the  prosecution, 
to  introduce  Lucy's  evidence,  had  been  worse  than  a  failure. 
It  was  one  of  those  incidents  which  sometimes  do  more  than 
testimony  or  argument  to  convince  a  jury.  The  sympathy  in 
her  behalf  had  been  very  great ;  and  that,  together  with  the 
revelation  of  the  fact  that  the  prisoner  was  not  her  seducer, 
but  her  husband,  was  sure  to  operate  powerfully  in  his  favor. 

The  government  attorneys  saw  plainly  the  leak  that  was 
sinking  their  case,  and  judged  it  expedient  to  withdraw,  in 
order  to  make  repairs,  and  to  return  with  less  disadvantage 
to  the  battle  the  next  morning. 

But,  before  the  court  adjourned,  they  resolved  to  give  the 
jury  something  strong  to  sleep  on.  Mad  had  borne  his 
examination  so  well,  that  it  could  not  be  doubted  but  his 
straightforward  swearing  would  be  very  useful  in  showing  up 
what  they  termed  Mr.  Arlyn's  "insane  imaginings."  Mad 
was  accordingly  recalled. 


554  THE     VERDICT. 

He  stepped  upon  the  stand  with  much  of  the  same  audacity 
he  had  at  first  exhibited,  varied  by  a  dash  of  sullen  deter 
mination.  Stoutly,  and  with  round  emphasis,  he  began  to 
deny  Mr.  Arlyn's  statements. 

But  now  there  appeared  in  the  court-room  a  woman  closely 
veiled,  attracting  much  attention  as  she  passed  amidst  the 
crowd,  entered  the  precincts  of  the  bar,  and  took  a  seat, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  reserved  for  her,  directly  facing 
the  witness.  The  heart  of  Guy  swelled  exultantly.  But 
Mad's  spirit  went  straightway  out  of  him,  and  left  him  empty, 
when  the  veil  was  quietly  laid  aside,  and  he  saw  looking, 
with  the  old  irresistible  look,  straight  into  his  eyes,  the  eyes 
of  Christina. 

Pallor  and  confusion  seized  him.  In  vain  Jinket  frowned 
and  shrugged.  It  was  impossible  for  Mad  to  go  on.  His 
palsied  tongue  would  not  utter  a  word. 

Twice  or  thrice,  full  of  consternation  and  dumb  fear,  he 
turned  his  eyes  about  him,  as  if  seeking  for  some  relief,  or 
chance  of  escape ;  but  inevitably  they  came  back,  and  rested 
—  if  such  flickering  frenzied  glances  could  be  said  to  rest  — 
upon  the  pale,  resolute,  imperturbable,  truth-compelling  fece 
of  Christina. 

At  length,  stung  to  desperation  by  the  tongues  of  the  law 
yers,  his  voice  burst  hoarsely  into  an  oath  ;  and,  springing 
from  the  platform,  he  made  a  dash  at  the  nearest  door. 

Thanks  to  the  district  attorney,  who  desired  that  his  wit 
ness  should  appear  to  the  best  advantage  before  the  jury,  no 


THE     VERDICT.  555 

manacles  bad  been  put  upon  him.  His  limbs  were  free. 
Fear,  and  the  prospect  of  escape,  inspired  him.  The  officers 
were  taken  entirely  by  surprise.  He  tore  through  their 
hands  without  knowing  that  they  touched  him  ;  and  the  next 
instant  he  cleared  the  flight  of  steps,  at  the  side  entrance  of 
the  court-house,  at  a  single  leap. 

"  Stop  !  "  a  voice  shouted  after  him,  "  or  you  are  a  dead 
man  !  " 

Mad  heeded  the  twittering  of  the  swallows  as  much.  He 
rushed  towards  the  fields,  with  the  woods  and  crags  of  Mount 
Solomon  lifted  high  in  sunshine  before  him,  smiling  calm 
invitation  to  his  fiery  soul.  And  he  might  have  reached 
those  fastnesses  in  spite  of  pursuers  ;  but  a  small  pistol-crack 
succeeded  the  unheeded  threat,  —  so  very  small  and  faint, 
that  he  scarcely  heard  it ;  and  a  little  missile  of  lead,  travel 
ling  considerably  faster  than  he,  overtook  him  at  the  fence. 
He  staggered,  threw  up  his  hands,  clapped  one  of  them  on 
the  back  of  his  neck,  turned  square  round,  and  fell. 

Stunned  and  bleeding  he  lay  there,  until,  reviving  a  little, 
he  moved  feebly  under  the  hands  of  the  physician  who  had 
come  directly  from  Sophy  and  her  babe  to  him,  and,  looking 
out  from  the  darkness  which  had  fallen  upon  his  senses,  saw 
a  great  crowd  around  him. 

"  Am  I  killed  ?  "  he  asked,  rolling  his  bewildered  eyes. 

"You  have  got  your  death-wound,  I  am  sorry  to  say," 
replied  the  sheriff.  "  You  remember  what  you  promised, 
provided  I  wouldn't  put  the  irons  on  to  you ;  and  what  / 
promised  in  case  you  tried  to  get  away.'' 


556  THE     VERDICT. 

"Madison!"  said  another  voice,  which  he  knew,  and 
which  called  up  ghastly  memories ;  and,  through  the  shadow 
that  was  closing,  he  saw  dimly  the  form  of  Christina  kneel 
ing.  "  Madison  ! "  she  repeated  in  a  louder  tone  to  rouse 
him,  "you  are  going  to  die  !  Nothing  can  save  you.  Soon 
your  soul  will  be  in  eternity.  But  don't  go  with  that  awful 
sin  upon  it.  Tell  me  instantly,  who  killed  Mr.  Pelt  ?  " 

"  I  killed  him,  —  to  be  revenged  !  "  answered  the  voice 
of  the  dying. 

"Did  any  one  help?" 

"  Yes ;  Murk  was  there  :  but  we  didn't  tell  Guy." 

Christina  would  have  had  a  magistrate  brought  to  take  the 
dying  deposition  of  the  murderer ;  but  there  was  not  time. 
And  it  was  hardly  necessary.  Both  the  sheriff  and  the  phy 
sician  had  distinctly  heard  the  confession.  And  now  the 
young  man's  eyes  were  turned  up  in  his  head  with  the  death- 
spasm. 

The  confession  was  conveyed  to  the  district  attorney  as 
the  court  was  on  the  point  of  adjourning.  The  learned  gen 
tleman  became  suddenly  magnanimous.  He  rose,  and  pro 
posed  that  the  case  should  go  at  once  to  the  jury  without 
argument.  The  defence  gladly  assented.  The  judge  did 
not  consider  a  charge  necessary ;  and  the  solemn  twelve, 
without  leaving  their  seats,  announced  their  verdict, —  "  NOT 
GUILTY  ! " 

Hence  Lucy's  amazement  there  in  the  grave-yard.  It  was 
Guy  himself  who  stood  before  her  ! 


THE    CACTUS    BLOOMS.  557 


LII 

THE   CACTUS  BLOOMS. 

N  the  joy  of  the  moment,  all  the  darkness  of 
doubt  was  banished  as  by  a  great  light,  an  illu 
mination  that  flooded  her  whole  being ;  so  that, 
had  his  wrongs  towards  her  been  a  hundred-fold  greater  than 
they  were,  she  would  have  forgotten  them  all  in  the  rapture 
of  their  re-union. 

His  countenance  was  full  of  ineffable  love  and  tenderness ; 
and  his  voice  was  thick  with  crowding  emotions,  as  he  called 
her,  — 

"  My  wife  !  —  my  own  wife  !  "  —  and  clasped  her  to  his 
heart. 

Old  Ben  Arlyn  choked  and  gasped,  and  brushed  his  eyes, 
and  walked  away  to  the  gate  where  Jehiel  stood  by  the  pant 
ing  and  foaming  horse  that  Guy  had  driven. 

And  now  —  after  the  first  convulsion,  in  which  the  stream 
of  their  love,  that  had  been  so  long,  not  dry,  but  dammed  in 
its  course,  burst  forth  again  —  they  talked  together ;  and  he 
told  her  how  the  day  had  been  decided,  and  assured  her,  that, 


558  THE    CACTUS    BLOOMS. 

until  the  morning  after  the  murder,  he  was  even  ignorant  that 
it  had  been  committed. 

"  Do  you  think,  if  I  had  known  of  it,  I  would  have  left 
the  gold  with  you  in  that  careless  way?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  then,  didn't  you  declare  the  simple  truth  ?  "  said 
Lucy. 

"  Because  the  law  will  not  accept  the  simple  truth.  There 
were  circumstances  which  placed  me  in  jeopardy.  I  did  not 
intend  that  any  serious  harm  should  happen  to  Pelt.  I  did 
not  know  which  road  he  would  return  by,  but  thought  it  most 
probable  he  would  take  the  south  road.  So  I  went  myself, 
alone,  to  wait  for  him  there ;  and  there  I  waited  till  Murk 
and  Madison  brought  me  the  gold.  Murk  said  they  had 
done  only  '  what  was  necessary,'  and  let  Pelt  go.  The  pistol 
I  had  not  even  seen ;  but,  though  I  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
murder,  I  felt  a  strong  presentiment  of  trouble.  And  when, 
the  next  morning,  I  heard  what  had  happened,  I  knew  that, 
if  they  had  done  the  deed,  and  it  was  proved,  together  with 
my  action  in  the  matter,  the  law  would  regard  me  as  an  ac 
cessory  both  before  and  after  the  fact,  and  hold  me  subject  to 
the  same  penalty  as  if  I  had  been  really  the  principal  crimi 
nal.  So  I  took  counsel,  and  determined  to  use  the  law  to 
defend  myself  against  the  law.  I  know  how  you  got  rid  of 
the  gold,  Lucy ;  and  I  have  you  to  thank  for  saving  my  life ; 
though  the  boots  I  gave  Archy  came  very  near  turning 
traitors  against  me  !  " 

"  We  have  escaped  great  perils  !  "  said  Lucy.     "  I  trem- 


THE    CACTUS    BLOOMS.  559 

ble  to  think  of  them  !  Are  they  all  passed,  do  you  think, 
Guy?"  For  now  came  up  thoughts  of  Christina,  of  his 
father,  of  their  future. 

He  answered  all  her  doubts.  He  had  spoken  with  Christi 
na  a  moment  after  the  trial,  and  she  had  bidden  him  farewell. 

"  She  did  you  a  great  service  at  last !  "  said  Lucy 
gratefully. 

"  Yes ;  and  she  has  done  more  for  me  than  that,"  replied 
Guy,  "  as  you  will  learn  some  day." 

"0  Guy!"  said  she  penitently,  "  I  am  not  willing  to 
separate  you  from  any  of  your  friends.  I  have  not  trusted 
you  as  I  should,  — as  I  can  trust  you  now." 

"  The  friends  you  have  distrusted  —  they  have  fulfilled 
their  use,  a  great  use  to  me  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Heaven  has 
been  kind  to  me.  I  have  not  been  a  fanatic  for  nothing !  " 
he  added  with  a  smile  of  wonderful  meaning. 

Lucy  saw  the  radiance,  and  felt  in  her  own  heart  a  strange 
consciousness  of  blessedness ;  and  she  knew  then  that  all  had 
been  wisely  ordered,  and  that  all  was  well. 

"As  for  my  father,"  said  Guy,  "I  consider  the  inherit 
ance  fairly  forfeited  by  the  miserable  deception  I  have  been 
guilty  of;  and  if  it  should  fall  to  us  now,  Lucy,  it  will  be 
ours  only  for  the  good  we  can  do  with  it,  —  ours  to  hold  in 
trust  for  the  poor.  But,  for  his  own  sake,  I  hope  he  will 
forgive  me  and  love  you." 

"  We  cannot  be  fully  happy,  and  how  can  he  have  peace, 
without  a  reconciliation?"  said  Lucy.  "He  cannot  help 
rejoicing  that  you  are  acquitted." 


560  THE    CACTUS    BLOOMS. 

"  He  does  not  know  it  yet.  I  wish  we  could  cany  him 
the  news  :  I  am  sure  his  heart  would  be  softened  then." 

"  Yes  :  we  will  go.  But,  Guy,  I  have  not  shown 
you"  — 

And  tremblingly,  with  hushed  lips,  she  led  him  to  their 
baby's  grave.  He  knelt  down.  They  knelt  together,  and 
wept. 

"My  precious  Agnes!  —  she  is  with  the  angels!  But 
God  has  left  us  each  other ;  and  love  is  not  lost,  Lucy.  The 
dear  ties  we  think  broken,  they  are  not  destroyed  ;  but  Christ 
takes  them  all  in  his  hand,  and  holds  them  for  us,  and  draws 
us  by  them  up  to  him." 

They  had  risen  to  depart,  when  Archy  Brandle,  with  a 
pair  of  innocent  old  shoes  on  his  feet,  coming  into  the  village 
to  get  news  of  the  trial,  stopped  at  the  gate  where  Jehiel  and 
Mr.  Arlyn  were  waiting,  and  saw  Lucy  and  Guy  with  his 
astonished  eyes,  and  heard  the  story  of  the  verdict  with  his 
astonished  ears. 

"And  I  ain't  so  crazy,  my  boy,"  cried  Mr.  Arlyn,  "but 
that  I  remember  who  was  our  friends  when  we  needed  friends. 
You  and  your  mother  were  kind  to  me  :  but,  more  than  that, 
you  were  angels  to  my  poor  child ;  and  here  she  is  to  thank 
you." 

The  angel  in  old  shoes,  confounded  and  overwhelmed  very 
much  as  if  he  had  been  a  mere  mortal,  turned,  and  blushed, 
and  grew  pale,  as  he  saw  Lucy  affectionately  reaching  out 
her  hand  to  him. 


THE    CACTUS    BLOOMS.  561 

"  No,  Arcby;  I  can  never  thank  you  :  but  I  shall  try  to 
be  as  kind  to  others  who  need  kindness  as  you  and  your 
mother  have  been  to  me.  This  is  my  husband,  —  MY  INNO 
CENT  HUSBAND,  —  Archy." 

"  Then  I  am  glad  !  "  he  exclaimed,  brightening,  the  real 
angel  shining  through  his  awkwardness.  "  I'm  as  glad  as  I 
can  be  !  "  — with  a  gush  of  honest  tears. 

Guy,  touched  with  admiration  and  affection,  held  out  his 
hand  to  the  faithful  and  generous  youth. 

"  You  and  I  will  be  better  friends  than  we  have  been  yet, 
Archy,"  he  said. 

"  I  shall  like  you  if  you  are  good  to  her,"  Archy  replied. 

"  Oh,  then  you  will  worship  me  ! "  said  Guy. 

"  Go  home  with  Jehiel,"  then  said  Lucy  to  her  father. 
"  We  will  be  there  soon.  We  have  first  a  duty  to  do." 

And  the  group  separated,  and  Archy  was  left  standing 
alone;  and  as  he  watched  Guy  and  Lucy  riding  away  in 
the  sunset  light,  so  young,  so  beautiful,  so  beloved  of  each 
other,  it  must  be  owned  that  his  lonely  heart  gave  one  great 
heave  of  grief;  then  it  was  still,  and  sweet  peace  flowed 
into  it ;  and  the  joy  which  neither  wit  nor  good  fortune  can 
bring  their  possessor,  which  can  only  be  his  who  serves  faith 
fully  and  loves  unselfishly,  went  home  that  night  with  Archy, 
walking  at  his  side  like  a  heavenly  companion. 

Guy  and  Lucy  rode  through  the  village.  The  story  of 
their  marriage  had  preceded  them.  Marvellous  was  the  sen 
sation,  and  wonderful  the  buzzing  of  gossips.  "  Did  you 

36 


562  THE    CACTUS    BLOOMS. 

ever  hear  any  thing  so  romantic  ?  V  —  "  No,  I  never !  Mrs. 
Guy  Bannington  !  —  only  think  of  it !  Well,  I  always  knew 
she  was  a  girl  above  the  common.  More  character  than  fifty 
like  that —  Of  course  you  have  heard  about  Sophy  Pin- 
worth  ?  What  a  shame  !  What  will  her  mother  say  now,  I 
wonder?  Well,  I  always  knew  ''  — 

And  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  For  this  world  of  gossip  is  a 
curious  world ;  a  chattering  idiot,  his  back  turned  upon  the 
realities  of  things,  viewing  the  solemn  procession  of  life's 
changes  in  a  flawed  mirror,  making  his  own  coarse  traits  the 
largest  part  of  the  picture,  and  sapiently  commenting. 

Sweetly  unconscious  of  the  figure  they  made  in  that  fan 
tastic  glass,  Guy  and  Lucy  rode  on.  An  atmosphere  of  love 
and  peace  wrapped  them  in  its  halo.  Under  the  trees  and 
the  soft  sky  lay  the  cool  tranquil  pond  as  they  passed,  with 
far-off  sunset  mountains  in  its  depths ;  and  like  the  trans 
parent  water  seemed  their  souls,  full  of  the  beauty  of  earth 
and  the  purity  of  heaven. 

As  they  rode,  a  vision  of  future  days  floated  before 
them, — a  vision  of  happy  labor,  of  high  uses,  of  wedded 
blessedness,  and  dear  parental  cares ;  charity  no  idle  phrase 
with  them,  but  an  essence  flowing  out  from  their  daily  lives ; 
reform  no  vague  or  fine-spun  theory,  but  first  a  reality  in 
themselves,  and  thence  proceeding  outward,  a  power  in  the 
world. 

And  so  they  reached  Guy's  father's  house.  Descending 
at  the  door,  they  were  met  and  cordially  welcomed  by  Rhoda. 


THE    CACTUS     BLOOMS.  663 

They  inquired  for  the  colonel.  She  pointed  to  the  library, 
whispering,  — 

"  He  came  home  dreadfully  excited.  He  sent  Aaron  off 
for  Squire  Wells  :  something  about  altering  his  will,  Aaron 
said." 

"  Tell  him  we  have  come  to  see  him,"  said  Guy,  drawing 
the  timid  Lucy  to  his  side. 

"  He  told  me  not  to  disturb  him,  or  let  any  one  see  him  till 
they  came  back,"  replied  Rhoda.  "  But  of  course  you  can 
do  as  you  please." 

Guy  softly  opened  the  door.  There  sat  the  colonel  in  his 
chair,  with  his  head  on  his  breast,  —  as  he  often  sat,  when 
his  troubles  were  heavy. 

"  Come,  Lucy  !  —  courage  !  The  first  thing  he  sees,  when 
he  looks  up,  should  be  your  face  ! "  And  well  might  Guy 
think  that  the  tender  radiance  of  her  sweet,  sad,  hopeful  ex 
pression  would  touch  his  father's  heart. 

They  entered  with  noiseless  steps  on  the  thick  carpet. 
The  colonel,  wearied,  had  fallen  asleep.  He  did  not  look  up 
or  stir.  A  peculiar  chilliness  and  gloom  pervaded  the  library. 
Dimly  from  her  picture,  Guy's  mother  looked  down  upon  the 
scene. 

"  Father  1 "  said  Guy,  kneeling  with  Lucy. 

No  response ;  and  somehow  his  own  voice  startled  him, 
breaking  the  ominous  hush. 

"  Father  ! "  he  repeated,  looking  up  in  the  still  face, 
whose  pallor  appalled  him.  "  FATHER  1 "  And  he  took  hold 
of  the  sleeper's  hands. 


564  THE    CACTUS    BLOOMS. 

They  were  tightly  clinched,  and  damp  with  the  clamminess 
of  death. 

At  that  moment,  Lucy,  with  shuddering  awe,  saw  a  man 
standing  behind  the  corpse.  It  was  Guy's  father;  not  he 
whose  rigid  members  sat  up  there  in  hideous  mockery  of 
life,  but  the  same  of  other  days,  —  her  father's  friend,  ever 
kind  to  her,  and  looking  kindly  upon  her  now  with  a  forgiv 
ing  smile.  In  an  instant  the  image  vanished  ;  and  she  told 
Guy. 

"  It  is  a  good  omen  !  "  he  said. 

And,  kneeling  still,  he  prayed  with  his  whole  heart :  — 

"  0  Lord  of  life  !  guide  us  in  the  way  of  thy  law ;  hold 
us  in  the  bosom  of  thy  love  1 J/ 

And,  when  he  had  prayed,  he  lifted  Lucy  up  ;  and,  turn 
ing  to  the  window,  he  showed  her,  flaming  between  them  and 
the  sunset  sky,  two  full-blown  cactus-flowers. 

"  One  for  my  father,"  he  said,  "  and  one  for  me." 


THE     END. 


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